


the hurricane inclined us

by doriangay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Gay Bar, Gay Dennis, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post s14, Sexuality, Tenderness, i like to think these are the tags rcg wld use if they posted s14 on ao3, mental health, s14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 84,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriangay/pseuds/doriangay
Summary: “Just spit it out, Mac. Jesus Christ.”“The gang want to turn Paddy’s into a gay bar. Again.”“What?”[Aka: A post S14 fanfic because Dennis still being in the closet is physically painful.]
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 174
Kudos: 356





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, time for another multichapter! this takes place vaguely around s14, i wanted to post it before the finale finalised anything lol,
> 
> title is from all delighted people by sufjan stevens! it's the perfect s14 song please give it a listen
> 
> **trigger warnings for this chapter:**  
* mild descriptions of mental health  
* very vague references to past sexual assault

It was the first cold day of Autumn; not quite cold enough to be uncomfortable, but cold enough for Dennis to feel stiff discomfort creeping through his fingertips as he gripped the steering wheel of the Range Rover. He might not have minded so much had it not been for the traffic, but here they were, sat at yet another red light, a full half hour past the time they’d planned to arrive at Paddy’s.

“Hey,” Mac said, turning the radio down; they’d been listening to an old mixtape, something tasteless that Mac had found down the back of the passenger seat when they’d gotten into the car that morning, “Dennis, I should probably warn you about… something before we get to the bar.”

The way Mac was choosing his words made Dennis’ stomach twist, but he managed to keep his gaze fixed on the lights in front of him, “what have you done this time?”

“That’s not fair, man, I didn’t _ do _anything. It was all totally Charlie’s fault and, okay, it might have been a little bit my fault, but-”

Dennis huffed and turned his head sharply towards Mac. He was somehow wearing a sleeveless shirt in this weather, despite Dennis nagging him to at least put a jacket on. 

“Just spit it out, Mac. Jesus Christ.”

“The gang wants to turn Paddy’s into a gay bar. Again.”

“What?”

The lights turned green and Dennis stepped on the gas a little too hard, almost rear-ending the car in front. A series of discordant horns blared around him as he tried to think; on any other day, that alone would have been enough to send him into a rage, but he was still reeling from the bomb Mac had just dropped on him.

It had been a little under three years since Mac had come out; these past few months, though, something had changed. He’d grown into himself, a quiet confidence following him as he walked around, as though he was finally sure of his place. And that place, for some unknown, God-forsaken reason, was with Dennis.

They’d hadn’t had a conversation about it, or even really given it much thought, but somehow they’d fallen into something together. Something they’d never allowed themselves to have before.

Here’s how Dennis understood it: Mac was gay, while he remained a question mark, some unspoken thing that lurked in the shadows of their apartment, ignored for the most part, but still most definitely there. The technical term for that was probably closeted, or in denial, or just “finding himself.” But Dennis had never dealt well with technical terms.

In private moments, he and Mac were themselves, in the purest sense of the word. Dennis didn’t exactly know what that meant, nor did he really want to know, all that mattered was it worked - it wasn’t practical, but it was the closest thing he’d ever had to a functional relationship. He knew the same was true for Mac.

Sexuality came up often in conversation. It was hard for it not to with Mac, for obvious reasons. Still, Dennis had never felt pushed or prodded. Mac kept him steady, held him back from that ledge he so often felt like he was stood on, dizzyingly high, as he tried to cling to some semblance of what he’d always tried to be.

Right now, he felt sick with vertigo.

Mac’s voice was quiet, “I knew you wouldn’t like it, man, but you’re outvoted. And you know it’ll make us money, gay bars have been doing super well recently.

“But last time-”

“-was different.” Mac finished for him, the beginning of a whine starting in the back of his throat, “c’mon, bro, we’re practically a gay bar already. Nothing’s gonna change.”

He was so earnest that Dennis almost wanted to believe him; how much could Frank do? They’d throw up a couple of pride flags, maybe put a little sign out front and forget about the whole thing within a week. Maybe, for once, Mac was right. Nothing was gonna change.

* * *

“Everything’s gonna change!” Frank announced, the moment Mac and Dennis set foot in Paddy’s.

The bar had already undergone some of its gay transformation. There were pride flags littering every available surface, and someone had spruced up the signs hanging outside the toilets, with the words “animal shithouse” now emblazoned in glittering gold letters. 

Dennis glared at Frank, then turned to glare at Mac, just for good measure.

Mac either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was smiling, “it looks great, Frank!”

“So now you’re on his side?” Dennis waved his hands wildly, “I wasn’t even _ consulted _ on this! Me! One of the three original owners of the bar - I demand an arbitration, I will _ not _let this one slide.”

“It’s four against one, Dennis, there’s no need for arbitration.” Frank said simply.

“That’s bullshit!”

“That’s democracy, bitch!”

Dennis balled his hands into fists, pushing down the urge to take a swing at Frank. He felt Mac’s hands hovering nervously around his arms, either to comfort or restrain him, “how are you gonna pull this all off without a bartender, Frank?” He hissed, through gritted teeth.

Frank opened his mouth, but didn’t get a chance to answer because, right at that moment, Charlie came clattering in from the back office, dropping a box of what looked to be light fixtures. His sudden loud presence was enough to startle Dennis from the beginnings of a rant, and he took a step backwards, walking directly into Mac. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder, alongside the unmistakable, inexplicable urge to run.

Recently, since he’d gotten back from North Dakota, he’d been feeling claustrophobic, even when he was outside. It was as though Philly wanted to close in on him and eat him up, the smoggy clouds and tall buildings digging beneath his skin and making him itch. He wanted to put it down to his brain being a piece of shit, as usual, but he couldn’t help noticing that the sensation had started to come on more and more frequently.

“Dude,” Mac seemed to have a sixth sense for these moods, “follow me, quick, while he’s distracted.” He nodded at Frank, who had turned around to scold Charlie.

“Yeah- I. Okay.”

  
  
  


Dennis let Mac lead him down into the basement, ignoring the funny smells and sinister shadows that he usually would’ve deterred him.

“So, what’s up?” Mac’s hands were on his hips, one of his funny little mannerisms that made Dennis want to smile, despite himself.

“Nothing’s ‘up,’ Mac, Jesus,” Dennis focused his gaze on the broken carbon monoxide detector above Mac’s head, “I just think the scheme’s stupid, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid.” Mac mumbled.

It took a moment of silence and one nervous look from Mac for all the pieces to fall into place, “holy shit. This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Dennis said, his voice rising in pitch, “you’re the one that wanted this!”

“No, that’s-” Mac said, “I just thought that, since we took so much money during Pride...”

“Which you weren’t there for, by the way. Do you know how hard it was to deal with crowds that big without a bouncer, man? We were all working while you were off doing your little gay dance-”

Dennis stopped short when he saw Mac flinch backwards, as though hit. Neither of them had ever really spoken about the dance; Mac hadn’t even told Dennis it had happened, he’d had to hear it from a tearful Frank the day after.

“All I’m saying,” Dennis strained to soften his voice, “is that this isn’t gonna be fun. It’s hard work, the crowds are overwhelming. We’ve tried this before and it didn’t work. It’s just all...”

“It won’t be as bad as Pride, man. And it’s not gonna be messy like last time, either; we were super young and inexperienced then, we know what we’re doing now.” Mac stepped towards Dennis and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “besides, it’s like I said, we’re practically a gay bar already. Gender neutral toilers, a hot gay bouncer; really, all we were missing were the rainbow flags.”

Dennis leant into Mac’s touch, “alright.” He said, slowly.

Things _ had _been different last time they’d run a gay bar, but in more ways than Mac realised. Last time, Dennis had been lighter, less jaded; he remembered flirting with the male patrons, letting them take his hands and tell him he was pretty, he remembered sour tequila breath and- and-

He sighed, pushing the memory out of his mind, “let’s just get out of here before the carbon monoxide kills us.”

“Good idea, man.”

* * *

“These things have to be terrible for the environment,” Dennis said, studying a packet of rainbow shot glasses.

“Huh?” Dee barely looked up from her phone, “no, they’re recyclable, right?”

The twins were waiting in the long line at the supermarket checkout, weighed down by baskets upon baskets of supplies. Frank, in some attempt to avoid confrontation, had sent the two of them out to gather things for their debut as a gay bar.

“And what are these?” Dee asked, fishing a small box out of Dennis’ basket, frowning at it.

Dennis rolled his eyes, “Dee, Frank gave us his credit card for the afternoon. Do you seriously think I’m not gonna take advantage of that?”

“Yeah, but do you really eat… Manly-Muscle Hi-Cal Protein Boost Bars?”

“Shut up!” Dennis snatched the packet away, “obviously they’re not for me. They’re for Mac.”

The simple arch of Dee’s eyebrow made Dennis’ stomach twist; she wasn’t mocking him, but asking a simple question. A question he didn’t want to answer, and wasn’t sure he needed to.

She opened her mouth before stopping short for a second, stumbling on her words, “well, that’s nice of you. That’s a nice thing to do.” She said, cautiously.

Dennis narrowed his eyes, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean it’s nice of you to buy Mac his stupid bars, Dennis. Don’t be a dick.”

They shuffled forwards in the queue and Dennis clutched his baskets tighter. He looked around, searching for some way out; the supermarket was fairly empty, with the strong smell of bleach hanging in the air like a story that didn’t need to be told. If he wanted to, really really wanted to, he could cause a scene. He could scream and at Dee for being nosey, tip over shelves and throw things to the floor; he could make a mess that someone else would have to clean up. He was itching for it, feeling the anger build inside him as they stood there together, waiting.

With difficulty, he swallowed the urge, and forced a tight smile in Dee’s direction, “he moans if I don’t get the brand he likes. You know how annoying he can be.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s the absolute worst.” There was something in Dee’s voice, playful and teasing, that Dennis had to will himself to ignore.

They moved forward in the line again, and Dennis finally found some space to dump his groceries on the conveyor belt, not particularly caring when an unbagged apple rolled off onto the floor and out of sight. Dee glared at him, but did the same thing, losing a tin of ravioli in a similar fashion.

The dead-eyed cashier who rang them up barely even paused to look at them. Dennis drummed a finger against the till as he waited, frustration beginning to peak. The faster they got back to Paddy’s and set this stupid scheme in motion, the faster it would crash and burn and die. He was already imagining what he’d day at the next arbitration; witty comebacks, quips and smug “I told you so”s. Of course, those moments would be punctuated by looks of disappointment and betrayal from Mac, but he was used to those by now.

  
  


“Dee,” he said, as they loaded their groceries into the Range Rover, “how long do you think this is gonna last?”

“What?”

“The- the gay bar scheme,” for some unknown reason, Dennis felt a wave of shame wash over him, “we can’t keep it up for more than a week, right?”

Dee gave a noncommittal shrug and handed Dennis her last bag, “who knows, Dennis. Honestly, I think it’s a pretty good idea.”

Rage began to bubble somewhere deep inside of Dennis. “You too? You’ve been taken in by these foolish plans?”

“Chill out,” Dee said, “I just think it’ll be nice to get some new customers in. Most of our regulars are old as shit; once they die, we pretty much have no patrons left. We need to freshen up our client base, revive the business.”

“Uh-huh.” Dennis was unconvinced.

“Plus, think of all the tips we’ll get. Gays tip better than straights, and that’s a scientific fact. I read it in an article online.”

“Bullshit.”

Still, something about Dee’s carelessness made Dennis feel a little better. They drove back to the bar in a contented silence, broken only by the gentle thrum of the car engine and Mac’s mixtape blaring on the radio. (And, of course, the occasional strings of profanity from the both of them when someone cut Dennis off.

Eventually, Dee cleared her throat as though she was about to say something; but, when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She sat there silently for a moment before shaking her head and looking away.

“What?”

“I think,” she said, pausing and looking down at her lap, “I think you need to clean out this piece of shit car. It reeks.”

“_ You _reek!” Dennis retorted without thinking. But he couldn’t help smiling to himself, just a little.


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mac was stood by the door, looking bored, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a faraway look in his eyes; Dennis had been trying to catch his gaze for the past ten or so minutes to no avail. He almost wanted to call out to him, invent some problem or situation just for a chance to win his full attention. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fact that i only took like a week to update this... we're starting out strong!
> 
> **trigger warnings for this chapter:** * mild references to past sexual assault * references to panic attacks

The new lights Frank had installed were hot, beating down on Dennis with enough power to make his brow sweat. Funnily enough, nobody else at the bar seemed at all bothered, in fact, they almost seemed drawn to the lights, like moths to a flame. Dennis found himself mobbed with people, ordering drinks or just hanging around him, leaning against stools and chattering amongst themselves. The steady buzz of voices that was almost comforting in its familiarity; a busy bar was a busy bar, no matter what.

It wasn’t actually as busy as the gang had anticipated. Mac was stood by the door, looking bored, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a faraway look in his eyes; Dennis had been trying to catch his gaze for the past ten or so minutes to no avail. He almost wanted to call out to him, invent some problem or situation just for a chance to win his full attention.

“Got yourself some admirers?” Dee teased as she brushed past him, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring herself a shot.

Dennis frowned, “fuck off, Dee.” Then, after a moment of hesitation, he muttered, “pour me one, too.”

“Get your own shots, dick.” Dee said, grabbing a couple of beers and swanning off. Dennis watched her go, resisting the temptation to shout something cutting after her, or throw a stray cherry at the back of her head.

Before he could make any bad decisions, however, a polite voice interrupted him.

“Excuse me?”

Dennis whipped around to see a neat looking man in a thick brown jacket. He was handsome, and a little rugged, with laughter lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

“What can I getcha?” Dennis smiled, trying to regain his customer-friendly face.

The man returned his smile, “tequila on the rocks, please.”

Suddenly, his teeth seemed just a little sharper than before; Dennis’ stomach plummeted and he felt his face pale a little, despite the oppressive heat from the overhead lights.

“Sure,” he said, grimacing, “coming right up.”

“So, uh,” the man obviously hadn’t noticed Dennis’ turmoil, because he leaned in a little closer, the cloying smell of his aftershave making Dennis dizzy, “I’m sure you get this a lot, but what time do you get off tonight? If you’re not doing anything, I know a nice pla-”

“_ Oh, _” Dennis felt his voice rise in pitch, and knew his hands were visibly shaking by now. The corners of his vision were blurring a little, and his hands slipped on the tequila bottle as he tried to open it.

The man leaned away, knitting his brows together, “sorry, I just thought- are you alright?”

Dennis shook his head slowly, trying to dissipate some of the ringing in his ears, before thrusting the man’s drink towards him and stumbling towards the back office. A couple of people yelled at him as he left, trying to get their orders in, but he didn’t hear a word they said. 

Once inside the back office, he slammed the door and sat down on the edge of the desk, resting his head in his hands. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his neck, taste the lingering sting of the shots he’d taken earlier on his tongue. His heart was beating hard, as though demanding not to be forgotten, drumming insistently against his ribs.

“Pull yourself together,” he whispered to himself through gritted teeth, “pull yourself together, you piece of shit.”

Panic attacks were commonplace in Dennis’ world. They came and went like clockwork, so predictable that Dennis knew every twist and turn. He knew which ones he could push through, and which ones he had to ride out, counting his breaths on the bathroom floor.

He guessed he had no choice but to push through this one.

As he sat up, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Dee burst into the room with a face like thunder.

“What the _ fuck _are you playing at?” She asked, a tray of empties balanced precariously on her arm.

“I was just-”

“Just- just,” Dee mimicked him, rolling her eyes, “get back out there, you dick! I can’t cover for you when people are asking for fancy drinks and shit! I’m all for running a gay bar but, honestly, what’s even in a long island iced tea, it’s like five different- oh, oh, Dennis you look _ bad.” _

Dennis looked blankly ahead, hoping that if he unfocused his eyes the entire office would melt away and leave him alone, “I feel bad.”

She stared at him for a long moment before putting her tray down on a nearby filing cabinet and sitting down on the desk next to him, shuffling her feet awkwardly, “Charlie took Frank to check out a rat king in the basement,” she said quietly, “you can chill here for, like, ten more minutes before he notices you’re gone.”

“Sure.” Dennis said.

“Okay.” Dee replied, “okay, uh- I’m gonna go cover your ass, since I’m such a good sister. But get out there as soon as you can because, really, Dennis? I hate mixing cocktails.”

“Sure,” there was a moment of silence as Dee stood up and walked to the door before Dennis managed to choke out a quiet, “thanks, Dee.”

Dee paused, her hand on the doorknob, “Jesus, there must be something seriously wrong with you tonight.”

A hollow laugh escaped Dennis, and then Dee was gone, leaving him alone again. He dropped his head back into his hands.

Barely a minute passed before the door opened again, and Dennis was forced to lift his head to see Mac stood before him, hands clasped nervously.

“Dee said you were back here,” he said, closing the door behind him, “what’s up?”

“I’m fine,” Dennis tried to smile, but must’ve failed because Mac took a deliberately slow step towards him, as though calming a scared animal, “just tired.”

“I get you, man, it’s a warzone out there. Charlie’s been focusing on rat bashing all evening, so there’s nobody on spillage duty, people are treading on glass left and right, and, dude, those lights Frank installed...”

Mac paused, leaning forward to press the back of his hand against Dennis’ forehead. It was somehow cool against his hot skin, and Dennis sighed in relief, leaning into the touch. The seconds ticked by and they stayed like that, perhaps for a little longer than was necessary. Dennis let his eyes flicker closed, and Mac slid his hand down to cradle Dennis’ cheek, in a way that would have Dennis complaining about smudged makeup on any other night, but was a welcome relief to him now.

He and Mac would play this game often. They’d brush his panic attacks off as sickness; hyperventilation as asthma, or shaking hands as fever. Dennis would let Mac fuss over him like the problem was easily solvable, something either of them had any semblance of control over; it was probably detrimental, they both knew that, but it was comforting. 

“-just like I thought,” Mac said, slowly pulling his hand away, “you’re burning up, man. You must be dehydrated or something. I told Frank that those lights were a bad idea.”

Dennis stood up, turning away from Mac and crossing his arms; something about the thumping music shaking the door of the back office and the subsiding panic in his stomach made him want to tell Mac everything, every little thought and fear that had ever run through his head. He wanted to tell him about the tequila, about North Dakota, about the deep burning hole that had been eating him up for as long as he could remember. He wanted to be known, for better or for worse.

But it wasn’t worth it. He knew that if he turned around and spat his heart out on the dirty floor, Mac would look at him with a new layer of disgust. And then he’d leave. And that, of course, would be the end of everything.

“I’m just really tired, Mac.” Dennis said, settling for a half-truth.

“Well, that’s alright,” Mac had crept up directly behind him, “it’s Wednesday, remember? We close in an hour, then we can fuck off and leave the rest of the gang to clean up.”

“You think Frank would let us?”

“As though he could stop us.”

Dennis could hear the smile in Mac’s voice, the same smile he wore when he was filled with false confidence about something. Still, false confidence was better than no confidence.

“Alright. Yeah, alright, that’s… good.”

Mac’s hands were on Dennis’ shoulders now, comfortably familiar, “I could get us out now, if you need,” he said, gently, “I saw a guy who was looking for a fight, I bet if I provoke-”

“-no!” Dennis interjected, “no, don’t do that. I’m fine.” He took a deep breath before shrugging Mac’s hands off his shoulders and turning around to face him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Cool,” Mac hovered for a second, as though he was about to say something else. After a few moments, he seemed to decide against it, and opted for giving Dennis’ arm a gentle squeeze before flashing him a smile and disappearing back out into the bar.

Dennis followed him.

The rest of the night went surprisingly smoothly. The bar had emptied out in the time Dennis had spent hiding in the back office, and something about the look in his eyes warded off most patrons. Occasionally, Dee would approach Dennis and list off the names of a few cocktails she needed making; it seemed as though she was helping a group sat in one of the corner booths run up a hefty tab, as she was getting progressively drunker and more adventurous with her orders as time went on.

Whenever Dennis glanced at Mac, which was shamefully often, Mac would turn to meet his gaze, as though he was somehow able to sense Dennis’ eyes on him. He would give a little smile, or wave, as if to say _ “I’m still here!” _

Sometimes, when Frank wasn’t looking, he’d sneak over to the bar and sit on one of the stools, silently sipping a beer. He didn’t talk much, either too tired or too aware that it was pointless to try and have a proper conversation over the loud music, but his presence was enough. He always kept one hand open on the bar, palm facing upwards like an invitation; Dennis never took it, of course, that wasn’t something the gang were allowed to see, but it was a nice gesture.

During one of those moments, Dennis had dropped a glass, letting it slip between his alcohol-slicked fingers; Mac had been by his side in an instant, wordlessly helping him pick up the shattered pieces. Then, and only then, hidden from view by the bar, did Dennis let their fingers tangle together for a moment. Mac looked up at him, smiling in that stupid, too-revealing way that made Dennis wish he’d never been born. It was like something out of an old sappy movie, the type Dennis would never admit to watching.

This was what he’d been afraid of. The unspoken thing leaking out of their apartment, following them into the bar and making itself public.

“Careful, man” Mac had muttered, looking closely at their hands, “you’re gonna slice your fingers up.”

Dennis had looked down to see a little streak of his own blood on Mac’s palm, “oh, shit, sorry.” He’d said, pulling away as quickly as he could.

That had been the last time Mac had come over that night.

* * *

At the very least, they had something to show for their pains.

“That’s a lot of green,” Charlie said, peering over Frank’s shoulder as he counted the money, divvying it into five inequal piles, “We’ll be eating well tonight, Frank.”

“What are you gonna do, Charlie? Pick up some gourmet cat food instead of your usual budget shit?” Dee snapped, rubbing at her temples.

A fleeting shadow passed over Charlie’s face, something between resentment and hurt, but Dennis chose to ignore it. Mac was stood dizzyingly close to him, elbows knocking into his ribs whenever he shifted from one foot to the other.

The bar was a mess: there was broken glass littering the floor, and more than the usual amount of beer pooling stickily beneath Dennis’ feet. Someone had managed to get a glass bottle wedged in the rafters, a disaster waiting to happen. Dennis didn’t envy the cleanup work he knew Charlie would be doing for the next couple of weeks; it almost made him pity him. Almost.

“That’s your lot,” Frank said, pushing a thick wad of cash towards Dennis, who noted, appreciatively, that it was the second biggest. He grabbed it and counted quickly before shoving it smugly in his pocket.

Mac had also grabbed his slightly smaller wad and was crumpling it in his fist. He caught Dennis’ eye and stuck his hand out, offering him the money.

“Can you hold onto this for me, man? I don’t wanna lose it again.”

“Uh, sure-” Dennis said, throwing the notes into the same pocket as his own. It wasn’t like it mattered whose were whose anymore, not with their shared bank account. It was a wonder Frank even still bothered to give them seperate wages.

“Ready to go?” He murmured, ignoring the rest of the gang.

Mac smiled. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dennis saw Dee shoot him a teasing look. He glared at her in response, but she just raised her eyebrows and held her hands up before being distracted by Frank handing her small pile of money.

Dennis wanted to say something to her, but before he could work himself up into a rage, Mac tapped at his shoulder, pushing a jacket into his hands.

“It’s freezing outside, man.” He said, though he was still wearing a sleeveless shirt, “but I found this in one of the booths.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dennis shrugged the jacket on. It smelled like cigarettes and weed. He looked at Mac, who was smiling expectantly at him; he returned the smile.

The two of them left the bar without another word to the rest of the gang, stepping out into the cool night air. Mac had been right, it was freezing outside. Dennis watched as his breath clouded in front of his face, pooling up into the smoggy night sky; despite the stolen jacket, he shivered a little, wrapping his arms around himself.

“How are you not dying right now?” Dennis asked Mac, eyeing his bare arms.

Mac grinned, “it’s because I’m so ripped, man! My muscles insulate my bones, that’s why I don’t shiver.”

“Surely that isn’t supported by science.”

“Science? Who said anything about science? This is just fact, bro.”

This alone could fuel a week-long argument, so Dennis decided to concede, “sure,” he sighed, “let’s just get in the car before I get frostbite.”

Back at the apartment, Dennis lounged on the couch with his eyes half-closed; the heating was broken again, something he was dying to chew their landlord out about. He could feel goosebumps littering his arms beneath his thin jumper and he shivered, curling in on himself.

“Here,” Mac said, handing him a cup of tea before collapsing beside him. He was cradling his own steaming cup in his hands.

A gentle warmth settled within Dennis and he uncurled a little, “thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two of them were enveloped in a comfortable silence. Mac turned on the TV and flicked listlessly through the channels, barely pausing long enough for Dennis to see what they were passing up; he didn’t care, though, he just shuffled closer to Mac, revelling in his body heat.

Mac sighed, “we should call Tim about the heating.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember last year when we both caught the flu, man? That was totally his fault!”

Dennis groaned at the memory. Sleepless nights of feverish tossing and turning, broken only by vomiting his guts out every so often, “I don’t even wanna look at a can of chicken soup ever again, man, I swear to God.”

“Me neither, bro.” There was a strange twist in the smile on Mac’s face, a gentle nervousness that never preceded anything serious. Dennis knew a question was coming.

They settled on a TV channel eventually, watching a rerun of an old sitcom that Dennis only vaguely remembered. He had a sneaking suspicion Mac wasn’t interested in watching it. When he looked back at him, he found his eyes staring curiously back, brow furrowed a little, making him look older than he was. Dennis pushed away the urge to scold him and tell him he was well on his way to getting premature wrinkles.

“What?” Dennis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mac looked away, “I was thinking about what we should do with our extra money.”

“Well, if Tim refuses to fix the heating, maybe we could-”

“-because I was thinking,” Mac sat up, his cheeks flushing pink. He jogged Dennis slightly, making him spill a little of his tea; Dennis yelped as he scalded himself, but quickly felt Mac’s apologetic hand on his shoulder, silencing him, “if we saved, like, a ton, we could have a real holiday. Just you and me.”

“Mac…” Dennis shifted carefully, not wanting to scare Mac’s nervous hands away from him.

“No, not like a romantic getaway or anything, I know you’re not-” The words got stuck in Mac’s throat, and rightfully so. There were a lot of things that Dennis wasn’t, and too many things that he was, all of which prevented him from enjoying whatever it was Mac was trying to propose, “but just something to get us out of Philly for once.”

“Mac, I don’t know.”

“No, you’re right, it’s stupid.”

Mac’s hand fell away from Dennis and he took a sip of tea, clutching his mug tightly in both hands; Dennis could tell from the way he drew back that he’d scalded the inside of his mouth, but he still went back for another nervous sip, as though trying to calm himself.

“You’re not- you’re not stupid.” Dennis strained to keep his voice level, and reached out to Mac without thinking, pulling at his wrist in some unconscious effort to stop him from burning himself again, “I just don’t think I’m… ready.”

He felt cruel stringing Mac along the way that he was. Not ready implied that there would be a future in which he was ready; not ready implied that there was a future in which he could be normal, what Mac wanted him to be. Functional, real, whole.

“Okay,” Mac said, and it was a comfort to Dennis that he sounded unconvinced, “so, what do _ you _want to spend it on?”

He’d let one hand, the hand that Dennis had grabbed, drop from his mug to his lap. With a start, Dennis realised that Mac was stroking his palm with his thumb.

“Uh, how about a new electric blanket?”

Mac’s eyes lit up, “that would be nice!”

“Yeah? We can drive over to the store to pick one up.”

“Sweet!” Mac took another gulp of tea in celebration, this time visibly wincing as he scalded himself. Dennis rolled his eyes, letting go of Mac’ hand to take his mug from him; he put it down deliberately on the coffee table, before putting his own beside it.

Smiling, Mac wrapped his now-free arms around Dennis, pulling him in closer; Dennis rolled his eyes in an attempt to seem put out, but let himself be dragged into a hug. He reciprocated after a few moments, shifting so he could wrap his own arms around Mac and bury his face in his neck; Mac sighed happily and Dennis felt his breath ruffle the top of his hair.

This was another thing the two of them had worked out. Up until recently, Mac had been too afraid to touch Dennis at all; not out of fear for himself, but under some kind of impression that Dennis would crumble beneath his fingertips, or at the very least start crying. For a while, Dennis had been fine with that, it had been what he’d wanted. But, as time progressed, he began to long for physical comfort - a kind arm around his shoulder, a hand within his own. Sometimes, it was what he needed to stay afloat.

He barely remembered how they’d gotten here. All he knew was one day Mac was asking permission to fix his collar, and the next he was wordlessly picking him up off the sofa and carrying him to bed. The change probably hadn’t actually happened overnight, but sometimes it felt like it had.

Mac ran a hand down Dennis’ back, “wanna go to bed?”

It wasn’t like _ that _. They didn’t have sex, they didn’t even kiss; but it was easier to fall asleep with someone else beside him, espsecially in the cold winter months. And, now, tiredness was beginning to creep into Dennis’ bones, making his head feel fuzzy and heavy.

“Sure,” he mumbled into Mac’s neck, “dishes need to be done, though.”

“You can do them in the morning.”

Though he wasn’t looking at him, Dennis could see Mac’s smile. As doting as he could be, one thing he refused to back down on was their chore schedule; it was Dennis’ turn to do the dishes, and that was that.

Dennis grumbled, but stopped when he felt Mac’s lips brush against his hair before he sat up, letting go of Dennis to stretch his arms outwards and yawn. Annoyed, Dennis grumbled louder and clung more tightly to Mac, the bedroom suddenly seeming like a very long walk from the couch.

Still, between the warmth of Mac’s fingers now resting in his hair, and the secure knowledge that they would spend the majority of tomorrow bickering over blankets and dishes and money, it was almost like the shift at the bar hadn’t happened. They weren’t opening up again until Friday, to give Charlie time to clean up; and, in that moment, it seemed so far away that it barely even mattered. Besides, Dennis knew Mac would be there to protect him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading ! im gonna try and update weekly but we'll see how that goes <3
> 
> you kind find me at macdenniskiss on tumblr or TEXASREZNIK0FF on twitter !


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If he wanted to stay safe and not end up like Frank, or his mum, or every other sad victim of marriage he’d encountered throughout his life, he’d get out now. He’d step out of the shower and tell Mac to fuck off, or he’d go back to North Dakota and drink himself to death like he’d intended to the first time. But he just couldn’t do it, for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticking to weekly updates wow look at how functional i am
> 
> **trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> * references to disordered eating (mild)
> 
> * implied references to past sexual assault (mild)
> 
> * references to suicidal ideation (mild)
> 
> * internalised homophobia (moderate)
> 
> * implied alcoholism (moderate)
> 
> _(message me if there are any specific triggers u need warnings for in the future!)_

When Dennis woke up the next day, the bed was cold and empty beside him. A small spike of panic gripped his chest as he ran through a million and one nightmare scenarios before he blinked and noticed the sun streaming through the curtains. It must be mid-afternoon, Mac had somehow managed to peel away from Dennis unnoticed.

Annoyed at not being woken up, Dennis slipped out of bed, shivering a little before pausing to grab a discarded sweatshirt from the floor; it didn’t particularly matter whose clothes were whose anymore.

“Mac?” He called, pushing against the bedroom door, “are you home?”

There was a loud crash and the hurried sound of footsteps on the floor before a disquieting silence, “yeah!” Mac replied, sounding a little panicked, “just hang on a second!”

Of course, Dennis ignored him and stepped right through to the living room, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the mess laid out before him.

Mac was crouched on the floor, covered in paint and glitter. He’d pushed the coffee table off to the side, and there was a big wooden sign in its place, too messy for Dennis to make out; to Mac’s credit, the mess seemed to be quarantined to the middle of the living room.

Still, there was a hint of guilt in his hunched shoulders.

“I thought I’d be done by the time you woke up.”

“Done with… what, exactly?” Dennis took a step forward, craning his neck to squint at Mac’s project, “what am I looking at here?”

“A new sign for Paddy’s!”

A bubble of frustration rose within Dennis, but he quelled it as quickly as he could, balling his hands into fists, “I see.”

“You don’t like it?”

Somehow, they always ended up here. After a nice quiet night there’d be an argument or an incident, and then they’d be back at square one. Dennis wanted so badly for things to be different, but it was out of his hands, spinning an uncontrollable web, holding the two of them in limbo.

Dennis swallowed. “Needs less glitter.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, where Dennis wasn’t sure how Mac would react; he almost wanted him to yell and throw paint in his face, to cause a mess and make him clean it up. But he did nothing. He looked at his hands, twisting them sadly. Dennis watched as the glitter shimmered hypnotically against his skin, bright and green.

He crossed the room, stepping carefully over Mac’s mess until he reached him, crouching down to look him in the eye. Somehow, he’d managed to smear gold paint right across his cheek, a small streak of sunshine standing out against his pink face; Dennis tried to rub it away with his thumb, but it stayed stubbornly put. Mac closed his eyes.

“It got kinda messy when I spilled the paint.” He admitted.

“I can see that.” Dennis frowned, “didn’t we ban paint in the apartment, like, three years ago?”

“I mean, yeah, but…”

“Yeah?”

Dennis gave Mac’s cheek a gentle pat before turning his attention to the sign. It didn’t look too bad up close. Mac had gone a little overboard with the glitter, sure, but who didn’t given the opportunity? Beneath the loose sparkles, which Dennis was sure they could blow away, was some fairly neat lettering. It was clear Mac had spent the better part of the day on his little project.

“Here,” Dennis said, “I think I know how to fix this.”

  
  


Less than half an hour later, they had a working sign. Sure, Dennis didn’t really want to hang it outside the bar, nor did he have any of the original spray Charlie had used to keep their previous sign intact for so long, but it seemed to be making Mac happy.

“It’s getting late,” Mac said after a few moments of admiring their work, “you want me to order takeout?”

The idea of greasy takeaway food made Dennis’ stomach turn a little and he shook his head automatically; Mac’s hand tightened around his arm, where it had somehow found itself.

“I could cook?” Mac tried again, knowing “cooking” meant finding the right microwave meal and plating it up for the two of them.

Dennis thought hard for a moment before saying, “let’s go out.”

“Right now?”

The two of them were in no state to go anywhere; Mac was covered from head to toe in glitter with streaks of paint running through his hair and marking his clothes. 

“No, not _ right now, _genius, it’s not that late.” Dennis rolled his eyes, “we can clean up and go out, maybe get a little dressed up, yeah?”

Mac wrinkled his nose, “but it isn’t our monthly dinner for another week, Dennis.”

“We can go out then as well, man. If I have to suffer through this gay bar scheme, I’m at least gonna enjoy myself with the money we earn from it.”

“Weren’t we gonna buy a blanket?”

“They’re $20, Mac.” Dennis stopped short, thinking for a moment. “And Walmart’s open until, like, midnight. We can go buy one after we eat.”

“Alright.” Mac still seemed a little confused, nodding his head as though trying to keep up with Dennis’ quickly changing train of thought.

“Yeah? So we get ready, eat, and then get the blanket?” Dennis said, simplifying a little.

A smile appeared on Mac’s face, “yeah, okay!”

Dennis ducked his head to rest it against Mac’s shoulder, closing his eyes momentarily; Mac relaxed beneath him, warm and steady and only a little sticky from the glue they’d been using. The apartment was totally silent aside from the sound of their breathing in a way that would have been soothing had it not been so eerie. Usually, they’d keep the TV or the radio on in the background to avoid moments like these, the intimacy that came with total silence was something neither of them were ready for.

Mac sighed a little too loudly, pulling away to look him in the eye, “you can have the first shower, man. I’ll start to clean up.”

“Okay.”

  
  


In the shower, Dennis tried to scrub as much of the glitter away as possible, but it proved to be a futile task. No matter what he did, there always seemed to be more and more of it clogging his pores. He leant his head against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment as he let the hot water run down his back. It occurred to him that he might be in too deep.

When he was a teenager, back before Paddy’s, back before the gang was even a real thing, he’d tried to picture a life with Maureen. They’d been a pretty serious couple, dating on and off for the majority of Junior and Senior year, only breaking up in the end because of some stupid argument that Dennis didn’t even remember the root of.

He’d always thought of the two of them having their own place, nicer than the one he lived in now, a proper house, like the one he’d grown up in; but he’d never been able to picture the details. Going out to dinner together, evenings sat watching TV, sleeping side by side at night. It had all seemed so… boring, so unattainable, something he wasn’t built for. It was never something he thought he could allow himself to have.

But, somehow, he’d found it. Domestic life. He and Mac had managed to accidentally fall into it, a rabbit hole so deep that it seemed to have taken them years to reach the bottom. Sometimes, after a bad night of tossing and turning and nightmares, Mac would bring him breakfast in bed on a tray, just like people did in the storybooks Dennis had read in Kindergarten. Sure, the breakfast was always burnt, and they always ended up leaving an unbearable amount of crumbs in the bed, but it was something Dennis had never thought anyone would ever do for him.

If he wanted to stay safe and not end up like Frank, or his mum, or every other sad victim of marriage he’d encountered throughout his life, he’d get out now. He’d step out of the shower and tell Mac to fuck off, or he’d go back to North Dakota and drink himself to death like he’d intended to the first time. But he just couldn’t do it, for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

So, instead, he conditioned his hair, ran through his skin routine and scrubbed himself raw, giving up on getting rid of the glitter and just making sure it wasn’t as visible as it had been. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in the least dirty towel he could find, wrinkling his nose as he tried to remember the last time they’d washed it.

From the living room, he could hear Mac’s tuneless humming, an unmistakable sign that he was deeply engrossed in his cleaning. He stopped after a moment, and Dennis heard the tap running and, then, the sound of the kettle.

Dennis had never felt so grounded.

\--

An hour or so later, Mac was looking in the rearview mirror as he fiddled nervously with his tie. Dennis barely registered this, though, as he was too busy focusing on the car in front of them.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch,” he said through gritted teeth, “if you forget to use your turn signal one more time I’m driving straight into the back of you and killing us all.”

Mac shifted uncomfortably, “don’t kill the vibe, bro, I just wanna have a nice chill evening.”

“It _ was _a nice chill evening until this jerkoff decided to take to the road for the first time!” Dennis could feel his blood pressure rising, and knew the vein in his temple was probably standing out again, in that way that always made Mac worry.

Sure enough, Mac reached out and tapped a gentle finger against the side of Dennis’ face, “unclench your jaw,” he said softly, “and don’t worry. We’re only five minutes away.”

“Ten minutes if this idiot doesn’t hurry up,” Dennis said, but he took a deep breath and tried to relax a little.

Mac’s attention turned back to the mirror. He was smoothing his hair now, almost obsessively making sure that it was all perfectly slicked back.

His eyes flickered to Dennis’ reflection before he seemed to unstick his throat and say, “it’s been a while since we last went out for dinner, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he dropped his gaze to his lap, “last monthly dinner we forgot we were barred from Guigino’s and ended up just eating takeout, and then the month before that was the raccoon incident, and then the month before that-”

“-the basement incident.” Dennis finished, suddenly realising what he was getting at.

They hadn’t gone out for a meal alone since the unspeakable thing had started between them.

“Yeah.” Mac said quietly.

Dennis’ heart began to race as he second-guessed himself; he’d barely been thinking when he suggested eating out somewhere, honestly, it had been more of a way for him to escape the seemingly endless hell of takeout and microwave meals he and Mac had been living on recently. The last thing on his mind had been a date.

Was this a date?

“So,” Mac continued to avoid Dennis’ gaze, “this is gonna be nice, then.”

“Yeah.”

Dennis clenched his jaw again and turned into a small street with a few empty parking spaces; Mac tapped his arm, excited, and pointed to a little restaurant on the corner.

“There it is! We’re here!”

“I know where we are, Mac, we’ve been here _ numerous _times before,” Dennis couldn’t stop himself from snapping a little, but Mac’s excitement was undeterred. The second they pulled up against the curb he had his hand on the door, stopping only when Dennis grabbed at his arm.

“Here,” he said, “let me do your tie. It’s gonna annoy me all night, otherwise.”

Mac obliged, turning around and bearing his neck to Dennis. He’d somehow knotted the tie completely wrong, and Dennis tutted to himself as he undid it, trying not to let his fingers brush against Mac’s skin.

“I was in a rush,” Mac whined, trying to defend himself, “it just ended up like that.”

“Then just ask me to do it like usual next time, Mac. This is embarrassing.”

Mac pouted a little, but smiled brightly when Dennis finally pulled away, giving the tie one last little tug to straighten it.

“Ready to go in?” Despite his irritation and the slight churning in his stomach, Dennis couldn’t help but return Mac’s smile.

“Yeah, I’m starving, man!”

\--

The restaurant was warm and well-lit, and Dennis shed his coat instantly. It was a little independent Indian place that the two of them had been coming to as an alternative to Guigino’s for the better part of the last decade; it was unusually quiet, even for a Thursday night, with only one or two couples eating together and one small family tucked away in a booth.

“Can we sit over there?” Dennis asked the waiter, pointing directly at the quietest corner of the restaurant.

The waiter smiled, “craving a little privacy, huh?” He asked brightly, “right this way.”

Dennis barely had time to raise his eyebrows at what the waiter was insinuating, as he and Mac were quickly ushered towards their seats of choice.

After some grating pleasantries, they were left alone with their menus, and Mac leant across the table to smile at Dennis, kicking him gently.

“This is nice, right?”

“As nice as always,” Dennis replied quietly, suddenly aware of how far their voices were carrying. Nobody else was making any noise, it was as though they were all watching him, waiting for something to happen.

Mac tapped at his menu, “I don’t remember what we usually get,” he said, his voice taking on that whiney quality it always did when he was trying to find the words to ask a question.

“You like the mushroom rice,” Dennis murmured, “and the chicken madras, but you never finish it because you always eat half of whatever I choose, which changes every time because I like to expand my palette every now and then.”

Mac rolled his eyes, “bro, if you don’t get the same shit every time then how do you know you’re gonna enjoy your meal? I want to have a nice time, not a lucky dip.”

“_ How _ are you forty years old?”

They continued bickering back and forth for a while, before Mac agreed to try at least try a bite of Dennis’ food; maybe he’d forgotten, but Dennis remembered having this very same argument on at least three separate occasions, each time in a different restaurant.

After ordering wine, Dennis got tipsy pretty quickly. It had been a few days since he’d really let loose; in fact, he couldn’t remember if he’d had anything to drink since the shots he’d taken during his last shift almost an entire day ago. That had to count for something.

Either way, he and Mac had almost finished their second bottle by the time their food was brought out. Mac’s eyes were slightly glassy as he stared at Dennis in that tender way that made him feel a little afraid.

He gave him a gentle kick under the table, “don’t fall asleep on me, man.” He said.

A slow smile spread across Mac’s face “I’m not gonna, bro.”

“Is everything okay over here?”

The waiter was stood at their table again, looking down at the two of them. A retort clang to the tip of Dennis’ tongue, something about the insolence of not even being given a moment to start eating, but something about the way Mac was looking at him, sharp and warning, made him push the thought away.

“Can we get some more wine?” Mac asked, gesturing to their nearly empty bottle.

The waiter pulled a face, his friendly facade slipping momentarily, “guys, I’m thinking the two of you might want to slow down a little, wine is often better savoured and-”

“-I’m thinking you might want to do your job.” Dennis said.

“Yeah, bozo. More wine!”

The harsh words sounded unfamiliar on Mac’s tongue, and Dennis was drawn through the years, back to simpler times; back when they were young enough to not care about getting into fights with strangers, back when they could stay out all night and do the morning coffee run hungover. Back before their bones ached so often.

The waiter, obviously pissed, topped up their glasses with the last of the wine and huffed off into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Mac snorted and raised an eyebrow, as if to say “what’s his problem?”

Their knees knocked together under the table as Mac shifted, and a gentle shiver ran down Dennis’ spine. Sometimes it hit him all at once, like a dam breaking somewhere in his brain. Here he was, in a candlelit restaurant, surrounded by other couples, with Mac. 

If he wanted to, he could run away right now and never see Mac again, erase everything that had ever existed between them with a couple of carefully placed words. He could drive his car into the river, run into oncoming traffic, go out onto the street and pick a fight with the toughest guy he could find and hope he had a knife on him.

Or, he could stay. He could eat at nice restaurants with Mac for the rest of his life. He could kiss him, he could fuck him, he could even marry him.

He had no idea which of those two avenues of thought was more terrifying.

“Dennis?” Mac had been saying his name for a while now, quiet, but insistent.

“Hm?”

“You were miles away,” there was a note of worry in his voice, “I asked you if you were enjoying your meal?”

“Oh,” Dennis looked down and realised, with a start, he’d been eating without thinking, “it’s fine.”

Mac made a little whine of distress, “fine fine? Or bad fine? I wanted us to both have a good time tonight, Dennis, it’s important for us-”

“Mac.”

Dennis sometimes marvelled at the way Mac would stop to listen to him; had it been anyone else, Dee or Frank or Charlie, he would’ve smugly attributed it to his charisma and leadership skills, but with Mac, it always made him feel a little hollow. Mac’s undivided attention was a dangerous thing, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He took a steadying breath, “it’s fine, I’m enjoying myself. This is good.”

“Good, okay, yeah.” Mac nodded, smiling a little to himself, “I’m glad.”

Dennis raised his glass towards Mac, who mirrored him, his eyes crinkling into one of his suppressed smiles.

“To our fine, classy night.” He said firmly.

\--

Two bottles of wine later, Mac and Dennis were stumbling out into the cold street, sternly watched by the restaurant’s owner.

“Goddamn,” Dennis said, shaking his head wearily, “did we really get kicked out of that place? Again?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Mac had ended up drinking a little more than Dennis and was struggling to stay upright; he stifled a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair. It was hard for Dennis not to laugh at the sight - wine always made him sleepy.

“I’ve called us an Uber.”

Mac sat down on the curb, resting his head in his hands, “whassat?”

“Jesus Chr- an Uber, Mac! A fucking big car that’ll come and take us home so I don’t get another point on my license.”

“Ohh,” Mac said quietly, “you’re so smart, Dennis.”

The night air was colder than Dennis had anticipated, he huddled up in his thin coat, watching as his breath curled in thick tendrils around his face, threatening to smother him. With his brain slightly fuzzy, all he really wanted to do was curl up next to Mac on the pavement and sleep with his head in his lap, but that was a step too far. He was a few years too old to pass out in the street.

Mac didn’t seem to care, though, and was almost fast asleep by the time the Uber arrived. Dennis had to drag him to his feet, supporting his weight as he pulled him towards the car.

“Long night?” The driver joked as they got in.

Dennis rolled his eyes, “just drive, asshole.”

The driver snapped their mouth shut and stepped on the gas, pulling out a little too roughly for Dennis’ taste. Mac mumbled something, his face now buried in Dennis’ shoulder.

“Shush, we’re on our way home.”

“Didn’t we wanna go to the store?”

Dennis heard the driver give a little snort, and glared daggers into the rearview mirror, hoping they’d catch a glimpse of him. It was hard to think in the car, the scent of air freshener and old gum overwhelming his senses, tripping up his brain and making his eyes ache. Mac must’ve sensed something was wrong, because he gripped at Dennis’ hand, shifting so he could look him in the eye.

“Are you okay, baby?” He frowned, his voice far too loud, “I don’t mind going home if you wanna.”

Dennis’ blood froze. He looked over at the driver in nervous anticipation; they hadn’t reacted to Mac’s words at all, but he knew they’d heard him. That was a step too far, the plausible deniability, however small, had been ripped to shreds. Now they were no longer two nameless drunken men, unknown and unperceived, they were a drunken man and his baby, a pair. He felt his cheeks begin to heat up. He didn’t hate the pet name, of course, Mac sometimes let it slip around the apartment. But, right then, in that car, panic began to set in.

“Get off,” he mumbled, pushing Mac away, “you can sit up on your own.”

“Huh? Oh, uh, okay…” Mac shuffled away from Dennis, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Even his understanding was too much, it made Dennis want to open the car door and jump out.

He tried to ignore the worried little glances Mac was giving him the rest of the way home; there were a few inches of space between them, but Mac’s hand was open, giving Dennis the option of reaching out and taking it if he needed to. What Dennis really needed to do was scream, but with his Uber rating as low as it was, he couldn’t risk another bad review. He was the only member of the gang whose account hadn’t somehow been suspended.

“We’re here.”

Time had snuck up on Dennis and they were, indeed, outside the apartment. There was an awkward moment where neither Mac nor Dennis moved; they were frozen in that moment, waiting for something.

The driver drummed their fingers against the steering wheel, “so, get out?”

Dennis flung the car door open and fled, not even checking to see if Mac was following him. 

He was unlocking their door when Mac caught his shoulder, spinning him around.

“Jesus, Dennis, what happened?”

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe he’d pushed Mac to his limit. All Dennis knew was that he was staring into the very face of resentment and hurt. He turned away from him to push the apartment door open and step inside.

“I could ask you the same thing, Mac.” He tried and failed to keep his voice steady, immediately going to the kitchen to pour himself a shot of whatever he could reach.

Mac slammed the door and followed Dennis, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it to the floor, “what did you want me to do, read your mind? One minute you’re fine, the next you’re pushing me away. Dude, sometimes you make me feel so fucking stupid.”

“Maybe you _ are _fucking stupid, Mac! I mean, why would you- what were you-” the beginnings of a headache began to pinch at the bridge of Dennis’ nose, “that driver thought we were a couple.”

“So?”

“So? What do you mean “so?””

Dennis couldn't believe Mac wasn't getting this. There was someone out there with a false version of them in their brain. In somebody's mind, they were a couple, in somebody's mind, Dennis was gay and open about it; not just open, happy. It wasn't fair that mind-Dennis got that before real-Dennis did.

“_ So, _who cares what they thought? We’re never seeing that person again, Dennis.” He paused for a moment, frowning suspiciously, “this is about something else, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“Yes it is! This is about that gay bar scheme! You’re still mad at me because of it!”

“Sure, let’s talk about that, too!” Now that it had been brought back up, Dennis understood some of the unease that had been bubbling within him over the past few days. It was hard not to feel betrayed, just a little, at the fact that his torment was all Mac’s fault. “Let’s talk about how you made me the face of this little scheme without consulting me, without thinking about how my image is gonna suffer.”

“Your image? What does that even _ mean? _”

Dennis scoffed, “you think news doesn’t get around? You think people won’t be whispering about me on the streets, talking about how I’m the bartender at a- a-”

“Dennis.” Mac said, and the sympathy in his voice was more chilling than the anger had been. He downed a shot of what turned out to be rum, and poured a second one.

“My reputation is perfect, _ I _am perfect, Mac. I don’t need rumours tarnishing that.”

He didn’t believe that anymore. Once, sure, he’d been the great Dennis Reynolds, Golden God, the perfect man. But things had changed; he was old, flabby, tired. 

He couldn't tell Mac the real reason for his discomfort, he wouldn't understand; he wouldn't understand why something from fourteen years ago still made his skin crawl. So, he said anything he could. Anything to throw Mac off.

His mind was racing, far far faster than even he could comprehend; whatever Mac was saying was going directly over his head, and he turned away again, downing two more shots in quick succession.

“You’re not listening to me.” He heard Mac say, hollowly.

A cruel laugh escaped him somehow, “no,” he said, “I’m not.”

Without even looking at him, Dennis could see Mac’s stupid sad eyes, his nervous hands, the way he’d tilt his head downwards. It worked on some people, but not on him. He wouldn’t let Mac manipulate him into pity.

“Den.” Mac said.

Okay. Maybe the old nickname sent a little shock through Dennis’ system. He choked on his shot, leaning over the kitchen sink as he spluttered; Mac drew closer to him, as though dying to help.

“Listen, man,” he continued, “I know how you feel, I’ve done this all before. But sometimes you just need to like… let blood flow, you know? So it can heal?”

He wasn’t making any sense, but Dennis knew what he was saying and it cut through him like a cold knife, “I’m not like you, Mac.”

“No, no, of course not. But if you _ were- _”

“But I’m _ not! _” Dennis found himself stamping his foot, “I’m nothing like you, okay? I am a God, would a God be a f-"

Mac pounded his hand against the kitchen table, “that’s too far, Dennis!” He yelled, and, for the first time in a long time, Dennis heard real, uninhibited, anger in his voice.

Shocked, Dennis replayed his own words back in his head. He realised, in retrospect, he’d probably said the worst possible thing; his God speeches had always affected Mac differently to the rest of the gang. He’s always go quiet, avoid looking Dennis in the eye for a few hours after, uncomfortable.

“I-” Dennis said, the red in his vision beginning to fade, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” He was upset. Of course he was.

Gripping the shot glass so tightly that he hoped it would break, Dennis turned, “you know I don’t mean it, Mac. I- I say these things and I don’t mean them-” the words were spilling from him now, “I didn’t mean any of it.”

Mac refused to look him in the eye, “so?” That was quickly becoming the word of the night, “you still said it.”

“Mac…”

“I’m going to bed,” Mac said dully, “my bed.”

“Okay.”

A long look from Mac made Dennis shiver, and he froze as he brushed past him, deliberately close. He grabbed a glass from beside the sink and ran it under the tap, elbow-to-elbow with Dennis.

“Goodnight.” He said as he stepped back, before awkwardly walking towards his room.

Dennis watched him go, trying to remember the last time they’d slept in separate beds. It must’ve been more than a month now, maybe two.

“Goodnight.” He said back, but it was too late.

He stood in the dark kitchen alone, straining his ears; maybe Mac was distraught and he should follow him, maybe he _ wanted _ to be followed. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t hear any sobbing or wailing, in fact, after only a few minutes he was sure he could hear snoring.

Not able to face an empty bed, he grabbed the bottle of rum and settled down on the sofa.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading ! <3 as always, i'm @macdenniskiss on tumblr


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He could kiss him right now if he wanted. Pretend he didn’t remember when the morning rolled around. It was something both of them had done at least a couple of times, but not for years. Not since Mac had come out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry that this is so long <3 enjoy!
> 
> triggers for this chapter: 
> 
> * vomit (mild) 
> 
> * references towards past assault (mild) 
> 
> * references to disordered eating (mild) 
> 
> * references to alcoholism (moderate, no worse than a usual sunny ep)

Dennis was drunk. Too drunk.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat on the couch for, mindlessly swigging rum and scrolling through his phone, but he knew it had grown late enough for it to be unreasonable to wake Mac up.

He stumbled into the bathroom, barely managing to hit the lightswitch before vomiting in the toilet, emptying himself of the expensive meal he and Mac had eaten together; this always happened, he always did this. It was as though his body rejected anything good that was put in it.

Once again, he vomited, his nails scraping angrily at his palms.

“Dennis?”

Though he was too drunk to turn around, Dennis knew Mac was leaning heavily against the doorframe, with his sleep-tousled hair and his wide, worried eyes. When two alcoholics live together and share a bathroom for over a decade, situations like this become commonplace. Still, tonight felt different. Worse.

“Go to bed, Mac.” Dennis said, sitting back on his heels and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “I’m fine.”

He heard Mac’s retreating footsteps and, for a moment, his heart sank as he realised he’d pushed him away again; he rested his head against the toilet seat, his mind swimming as he tried to find the balance to stand up.

A few seconds later, he found himself being sat up, and a glass of water was being pressed into his hands.

“Jesus, Dennis, you’re drunk,” Mac said, frowning a little.

Dennis closed his eyes, breathing deeply and letting Mac hold him steady as the floor shifted beneath him. He hadn’t been this drunk, so out of his head that he was afraid of what he might do, in weeks. All of a sudden, he was very, very aware of how alone he and Mac were.

He could kiss him right now if he wanted. Pretend he didn’t remember when the morning rolled around. It was something both of them had done at least a couple of times, but not for years. Not since Mac had come out.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he managed to say, opening his eyes and trying to focus on Mac. He wanted him to understand exactly what he meant.

Mac sighed, “I know you are, man,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from Dennis’ face.

Dennis took a sip of water and Mac let go of him, standing up and busying himself with cleaning the bathroom. An immense wave of guilt crashed over Dennis as he watched him do it. So, he’d upset him and made a mess for him to clean up in the same night.

“I’ll do it in the morning, Mac.” He rasped, “go back to bed.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Mac…”

“I said, I’ve got it.”

Mac’s shoulders were hunched, a sure sign that he was still mad. Dennis struggled to his feet, spilling most of his water as he did so. He reached out to grab at Mac and he span around; Dennis took his face in his hands, Mac’s beard rough beneath his fingers.

They were only inches away from each other. Mac, a little shocked, looked down at Dennis’ lips, then back up at his glassy eyes; his jaw tightened slightly and he breathed through his nose, as though trying to calm himself. Dennis began to sway a little, but Mac placed a steady hand at his side, running his other hand through Dennis’ hair.

“I’m sorry,” Dennis tried again,shaking slightly.

“I know, it’s okay.” Mac’s voice was a little gentler than it had been before, and he pulled Dennis in closer, letting him duck his head down and hide his face in the crook of his neck, “you’re okay, man.”

Dennis sighed against Mac, wrapping his arms around him and finally succumbing to the alcohol. The room moved beneath him, tipping and shifting and making him seasick, but holding onto Mac grounded him just enough that he began to feel a bit calmer.

“Can I carry you to bed?”

It had been a while since he’d asked for permission to do something like that. Still, Dennis supposed it was more of a question of whether or not he’d throw up if he tried; Mac may not mind cleaning up after him, but nobody wanted vomit on their pyjamas.

“Yeah,” Dennis said quietly, and let himself be hoisted up into Mac’s arms before being dropped gently on the bed seconds later.

He didn’t fall asleep instantly. He wrapped himself up in the duvet and watched, through half closed eyes, as Mac went in and out of the bathroom with cleaning supplies, and fetched them both glasses of water. It must’ve only taken a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Dennis.

When he finally climbed into bed, Dennis rolled over and wrapped an arm around him, getting as close as possible.

“There’s Tylenol on the nightstand,” Mac muttered against him, “you’re gonna need it tomorrow.”

Dennis groaned a little, but still gave Mac’s arm a thankful pat.

Mac said something else, but the combination of alcohol and a late night sent Dennis to sleep before he could figure out what it was.

* * *

Everyone’s dream is to wake up after a bad night and for it all to be reversed; Dennis had felt that longing a million times over and, each time, he’d been frustrated by the impossibility of it.

So, when he woke up that morning to the heavy weight of Mac’s arm slung over his waist, he had to keep from pinching himself.

He turned around, poking Mac in the ribs and hissing his name, half convinced he’d dreamt their argument from the night before. It all seemed so silly now, the Uber driver, the God rants, the drinking himself to sleep. He barely even remembered how he’d ended up in his own bed.

“De- _ nnis _ ,” Mac whined as Dennis prodded him, “too early.”

“What happened last night?” Dennis asked, and he saw Mac’s shoulders stiffen slightly.

The silence that followed told Dennis everything he needed to know. It hadn’t been a dream. 

With his face still buried in the pillows, Mac gripped Dennis tighter, “doesn’t matter,” he said, so quietly that Dennis didn’t catch it.

Dennis pushed him away and sat up, “I was being an asshole, huh?” He asked, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“Yeah.” Mac finally turned over to look at him. He had dark bags under his eyes, as though he’d barely slept at all.

“It was- it was kinda fucked up? What I said?”

Another moment of silence. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

It was Mac’s turn to sit up. He twisted his hands nervously, clasping and unclasping them with such desperation that Dennis almost wanted to hold them still, to at least fix one tiny thing, if he couldn’t fix the rest.

“Dennis,” even Mac’s voice was tired, “are you really that uncomfortable with the gay bar thing?”

“No.” Dennis said, automatically. But he knew Mac heard the tiny, unspoken lie that Dennis had been trying to communicate for days now.

Mac sighed, “bro, what’s really wrong? I know there’s something you’re not telling me - you’re being all weird in that way that’s, like, secretive. There’s A Thing.”

“There’s not A Thing.” Dennis snapped.

“See!” Dennis felt Mac’s finger jab into his back, “there! You do that when there’s A Thing!”

“No, there’s  _ not  _ A Thing, Mac. I just… didn’t like running a gay bar last time and now- now it’s the same as before and it’s all- it’s-”

Dennis’ stupid hands shook and he clutched the bedsheets, trying to stop them. He heard Mac’s little intake of breath and knew his hands were reaching for his shoulders before he even felt them.

“Something happened last time, didn’t it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Mac always did this. He understood the yes in Dennis’ no, understood the something in his nothing. It was as though he could read his mind and knew when he was hiding something; it would have been infuriating, dangerous, had he not also known when that hidden thing needed to remain hidden.

“I’ll ask Frank if I can stand at the bar with you tonight,” Mac said thoughtfully, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Dennis’ back, “so you don’t have to be alone.”

“He’ll never let you.”

“Well, screw that old bitch, I’ll do it anyway!”

Dennis smiled to himself.

Two hours, a shower, and several cups of tea later, Mac and Dennis somehow found themselves in the kitchen, playing an intense game of checkers.

“I hate this,” Mac said, pressing his face into his hands, “Dennis, I hate this. How do you  _ always  _ win?”

Dennis smirked, taking another one of Mac’s checkers with a flourish, “skill, Mac. Pure skill. And a little talent, too.”

Mac gave a whine and looked at the board helplessly. It wasn’t like either of them were any good at checkers, not really; in fact, Dennis sometimes suspected that they were both making up the rules as they went along.

“Your move,” he said, flicking Mac’s arm gently.

Mac, still upset, picked up the piece closest to him and moved it to a random square, “I’m bored of this, Dennis.” He said, and Dennis knew he was only a couple of bad moves away from flipping the board over in an angry rage.

Dennis pushed the board away from them and picked up his tea, taking a sip, “okay, okay,” he said, “how about we-”

“-let’s go get the blanket!”

“The what?”

“The blanket?” Mac said, frowning a little, “the one we were gonna buy with our extra money?”

“Well,” Dennis looked at the clock, “I guess we have time to go and get it if you want, but we’ll have to be quick.”

“That’s fine, I was googling them last night, man! I made a list of the best ones, here-”

Mac scrambled for his phone and flicked through some screenshots of blankets; they all looked relatively similar to Dennis, but in that moment he could’ve cried. Even after an argument, after Dennis had been cruel and harsh, Mac had taken the time to decide which blanket he’d most like to share with him.

“I like that one,” Dennis said, pointing at a fluffy blue blanket Mac had just scrolled past.

Mac practically beamed, “me too, man! It’s, like, the best one in its price range, and almost nobody in the reviews complained about electrocution.”

“It looks soft.”

“Yeah,” there was a gentle quality to Mac’s voice that Dennis hadn’t noticed before, and he looked up from his phone to see him staring at him. He covered it up with a nervous smile before looking away, but Dennis had seen the look on his face. 

Usually, being stared at made Dennis uncomfortable, made him aware of his flaws, made him feel as though he should cover up somehow. It wasn’t like that with Mac; Mac’s gaze made him feel safe.

“C’mon, Mac stood up and tapped Dennis’ arm gently before clearing away their empty mugs, “we can grab breakfast on the way there.”

  
  
  


They didn’t end up getting breakfast on the way there. In Dennis’ defence, it was hard to keep track of which Starbucks they were barred from.

“This is bullshit, man, they can’t do this!” Mac whined as they pulled into the Walmart parking lot.

Dennis sighed, “are you going to complain about this all day?”

“Yes! I wanted my morning coffee, Dennis!”

“You mean, your afternoon dose of sugar and cream?”

Mac scowled, “shut up.”

He got grumpy when his routine was disrupted, Dennis knew this, but he couldn’t resist pushing his buttons; he debated for a moment whether it would be worth it to tease him further, make him snap and yell and not talk to him for the rest of the day. But the looming shift at work, and the fact that Dennis didn’t want to be  _ those  _ people who argued in a supermarket car park, made him decide not to.

“We can go somewhere else on the way to the bar,” he said, soothingly, “just try not to waste away while you help me look for this blanket.”

Mac grumbled a little but stopped pouting when Dennis found a parking space.

The two of them left the warm haven of the Range Rover and made their way inside the store. It wasn’t busy, being a weekday, most people were at work; the few people shopping were mostly teens bunking off school, or tired parents with young children.

A gentle tug at his sleeve reminded Dennis what the two of them were there to do, and he looked at Mac. He was scanning the store, frowning as he tried to read the faded signs hanging from the ceiling.

“I have no idea where we’re supposed to go.” He admitted, his fingers brushing against Dennis’ wrist, “so I guess we should just work our way through the store and hope we find the right section.”

“Christ, no, I don’t wanna spend all day here!” Dennis said unhappily, craning his neck at the rows of shelves, let’s just ask someone.”

It took them a good five minutes to track down an employee, and an extra twenty minutes to follow their seemingly simple directions properly.

“This  _ has  _ to be the right aisle,” Mac said as they rounded a corner.

Dennis rolled his eyes, “you said that about the last aisle, and the one before.”

“No! There, I see blankets!”

Mac let go of Dennis’ arm and sped off, scanning the shelf quickly before running back to Dennis and gripping onto him again, as though he’d never let go.

“Got it!”

“That’s the one we wanted?”

He looked at the picture on the box and saw the same blue fabric he’d taken a shine to earlier; inspecting it further, he made sure it was sealed properly, not wanting a repeat of past incidents. Mac watched him, a smile on his face.

Sighing, Dennis nodded and pulled Mac towards the checkouts, “I think there’s a Starbucks down the road we haven’t been banned from.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah! We have time to get there before we need to be at the bar, as well.”

Mac stopped short, his hand tightening on Dennis’ arm; he looked down and opened his mouth, as though trying to find the right words.

“Actually, I was thinking we could call in sick or something, since this morning you said-”

Frustration bubbled within Dennis, “it’s  _ fine,  _ Mac. I don’t need babying, I can handle everything just fine.”

“But last time…”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have bothered you, man. Like I said, I can handle things on my own.”

Dennis shifted, pulling his arm away from Mac. He still wasn’t used to it, being looked after like this; there was something shameful about how badly he needed Mac and it set his heart racing to hear him talk so candidly about it. 

Mac was giving him another one of his concerned looks, “you don’t have to handle them on your own, though. I wanna help.”

“Why?”

Mac shrugged, “why are you about to drive me ten minutes in the wrong direction so I can get coffee?”

He had a point. Dennis dropped his gaze to his feet and grumbled, letting Mac put an arm around his shoulder.

“For the record,” he said, giving one final protest, “I don’t  _ need  _ to be looked after.”

“And I know how to make my own coffee,” Mac said, “it just isn’t as good.”

* * *

“You’re late!”

Dee was on Mac and Dennis’ case the moment they entered the bar; Mac was holding his lukewarm coffee triumphantly in one hand, and pressing Dennis’ palm with the other. When Dennis saw Dee, he trailed behind a little, letting go of Mac.

Neither of them had been expecting her to be there before them, at least, not on her own; she was usually late, being the only member of the gang who didn’t have a roommate to keep her in check.

Dennis rolled his eyes, putting his hands up, “Jesus Christ, Dee, calm down. Maybe you shouldn’t be so early.”

“I wasn’t early, Dennis,” Dee said, waving her phone in his face and practically spitting her words out, “I was on time.  _ You  _ were an hour late.”

“We had some errands to run.” Mac complained.

Dee raised her eyebrows, “oh, yeah, okay,” she said, “errands. Yeah. That’s what the two of you were doing.”

For a split second, Dennis thought Mac was going to argue with her, but he just glared and stepped closer to Dennis, letting their shoulders brush; it was pretty obvious what Dee was insinuating, but it was sometimes easier to let these things slide, in case she started asking more questions.

“Where are Frank and Charlie?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“I honestly don’t give a shit,” Dee said, turning around and going back to sit at the bar, “under the bridge, probably.”

“Oh, Jesus, the bridge-”

They bickered and drank together, coming up with wilder and wilder theories for where Frank and Charlie could be. Dennis was so engrossed in their conversation that he almost didn’t notice the bar filling up.

Dee ended up wandering off and chatting to the same group she’d been talking to a couple of days ago, while Mac stayed sat at the bar, leaning heavily on his elbows and laughing at Dennis’ jokes.

A man interrupted them, dropping a handful of bills down in front of Dennis and smiling, “how many shots can this buy us?” he asked as he gestured to a small group sat at a table behind him.

“Uh-” Dennis frowned at the money.

Mac tapped his hand, mouthing, “rip him off!” And winking with a lack of subtlety that made Dennis nearly burst out laughing.

“Ten.” He said, firmly.

“Ten? Ten what?”

“Shots.” Mac and Dennis said in unison.

Dennis reached beneath the bar and surreptitiously poured out ten small shots of weak, sweet liquor of dubious origin, before dumping them unceremoniously onto a tray. He looked at Mac, who was inspecting the pile of cash with a frown.

“This isn’t money,” he said, holding up a piece of paper, “you trying to scam us, bozo?”

The man flushed a deep pink and grabbed the paper, shoving it deep into his pocket, “fuck, sorry - my friend must’ve slipped it in,” he glared at one of the people sat at his table, “it’s just a phone number for the bartender, but I can see you’re… yeah. Sorry.”

He grabbed the tray, still apologising, and hurried back to his group. Dennis watched as his friends teased him, pinching his red cheeks, before taking their shots and wincing. Despite everything, a small flame of satisfaction kindled in Dennis’ chest; it wasn’t often he managed to trick patrons into drinking shitty liquor, and he always enjoyed the betrayal on their faces after.

Mac smiled and tapped at his arm, “Dennis, did you see that? It totally worked!”

“Huh?”

“When he showed me the phone number, I gave him my most intimidating face, and he totally backed off!”

“Huh!”

Dennis looked back over at the group, and saw the patron was pointing at him and Mac as he talked to his friend, gesturing in a way that could really only mean one thing. “They’re together.” It seemed to say.

In almost any other circumstance, Dennis would’ve shoved Mac’s arm away and refused to talk to him for the rest of the night. He could see the way it would play out; the silent ride home, the argument they’d have over the dinner table, the tense way they’d lie next to each other until they fell asleep, only to reset and forget the entire thing happened the next morning.

But he felt oddly calm. “I bet you looked terrifying, Mac, but I’m pretty sure he thought you were my partner.” His tone was light, and he grabbed a glass, polishing it with intense concentration.

“Oh, sorry, man. I could-” Mac went to stand up and walk away, but Dennis grabbed at his hand.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, “I don’t mind. Not here, for some reason.”

He wanted Mac to understand for him, to pick apart his brain and know just why the Uber driver making assumptions about them had made his heart plummet into his stomach, but right here he would’ve let Mac kiss him.

Mac smiled wide, “oh, dude, it’s probably because everyone in here’s gay, right? Like, when I pick up guys in bars we’re totally all over each other in the club, then when we’re walking back to his place, there’s always-” he made a gesture, indicating distance. Indicating fear, somehow.

Mac didn’t talk about the men he slept with often, but when he did it always sent a spike of jealousy though Dennis, despite knowing that the majority of those nights had happened while he was away.

“But it’s not a gay thing.” He said, halfheartedly.

Maybe it was. Maybe the fact that nobody in the bar would blink twice if he kissed Mac right then. Maybe it was Mac himself, sat sober and solid opposite him, ready for anything. Or, maybe it was a contradiction in his brain.

Some days, he felt like it wasn’t such a big hill to climb, such a big cliff to jump from. Fuck everybody else, he was Dennis Reynolds! He could be whatever he wanted to be, he didn’t need validation from anyone!

But, some days, it was the end of the world, one of the chains holding him in place, keeping him from getting out of bed. Some days, it was the thing that kept him moving, running from an invisible beast that was bound to catch him up sooner or later.

Some days, it wasn’t the sex that scared him. He could handle that. Some days, it was the love he felt.

Today was okay. He just wanted to be told what and who he was, for someone to give a name to the thing eating up his insides and hold it for him. He looked at Mac, who had been staring at him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“I’d rather people think we’re together than hit on me.” Dennis said, a little sheepishly.

“Okay!” Mac smiled wide before getting up, a little too eager, and coming to Dennis’ side of the bar, “then I’ll stay here for the rest of the night.”

  
  


It was busy after that. Mac got in the way of Dennis’ bartending more than anything else, even though he tried to help as best he could.

“First day?” One patron asked, watching in amusement as Mac struggled with the beer tap.

“He’s our bouncer,” Dennis explained, taking over from Mac and pouring the beer almost effortlessly, “we’re short staffed.”

She nodded, biting back laughter, and took her beer.

“It looks so much easier when you do it.” Mac pouted, looking at the pile of broken glass from the bottles he’d already dropped.

Dennis patted his arm, “it  _ is  _ easy for me, man. I’ve been doing this for, like, fifteen years. And, besides, I could never do your job.”

That was a lie. Mac had never been a very intimidating or effective bouncer, all he really did was check licenses; Dennis had covered for him a couple of times, and the hardest part had been remembering what year it was, so he could turn minors away.

Mac sighed, “I guess…”

Dennis rolled his eyes and put his hands on Mac’s hips, fiddling with his pockets, which were hanging stupidly from his trousers. Paranoia pricked at the back of his neck, brought on by touching him like this at the bar, but if they were pretending to be a couple anyway, and Dee was off with her booth friends, then he didn’t see the harm in it.

“I’ll train you up,” he said softly, “teach you how to make fancy cocktails with the shaker.”

“Really.”

“Why not?”

“-so, what’s this?”

Dennis span around at the sound of Dee’s voice; he’d been sure she was passed out in the booth a couple of moments ago, but there she was. Her eyes were a little glassy, but she was smiling brightly in a way Dennis hadn’t seen her do for years.

“I was, uh- we were-”

“He was telling me a secret cocktail recipe.” Mac said, and Dennis cringed as he remembered just how bad he was at lying.

“Okay, sure, whatever, don’t tell me,” Dee rolled her eyes, “I just need, like, some pitchers?” She was slurring.

“Pictures?” Mac said, wrinkling his nose, “of what?”

“I don’t know, cocktails!”

Mac turned to Dennis, lost, and leant forward to whisper, “bro, I think she’s finally lost it. Like, fully.”

Dennis waved him off and laughed, grabbing two empty pitchers from beneath the bar and holding them up pointedly; Mac flushed and glared at Dee, as though his embarrassment was somehow her fault.

Dee had turned her back to them now, staring vacantly out at the rest of the bar; Dennis took that as an opportunity to give Mac a quick lesson.

“Here,” he said, holding out a bottle of vodka, “I’m gonna teach you how to make a screwdriver.”

Mac smiled and grabbed at the bottle, “oh! I like those.”

“I know you do, buddy,” Dennis opened the pitcher and guided Mac’s hands, helping him pour the vodka into it. He watched closely as they filled it, before pulling the bottle away from him, “okay, that’s enough. It’s not as strong as you like it, but vodka costs more than juice, so we’re gonna skimp a little.”

He then let Mac pour the orange juice under his supervision, wincing when he spilled a little on the bar. Wanting to speed up the process, Dennis mixed up a second pitcher, making it even weaker than the first - Dee seemed as though she’d had enough.

She seemed to have enough awareness to keep her back turned while they were making the drinks, though, some kind, inexplicable attempt at giving them privacy.

“Hey,” Dennis knocked Dee’s shoulder with her tray, “are you gonna pay for these?”

Dee span around and looked at the pitchers, “screwdrivers? No, these are on the house, Dennis. You think I’m paying to drink watered down juice like a three year old?”

“Fine,” Dennis sighed, “just take it and go.”

Mac snorted as she stumbled away, “bro, she’s not pulling her weight at  _ all.  _ We’re the only ones actually doing out jobs.”

As much as he wanted to point out that Mac technically wasn’t doing his job either, Dennis just smiled and watched Dee’s retreating figure, “I guess that means we’re in charge of money distribution tonight, then, huh?”

  
  


* * *

They closed up shop earlier than usual; without Frank around, there was nobody to insist that they stay open until the last patron passed out and, besides, Dennis could see Dee was just about at her limit.

They ended up driving her home. He and Mac bundled her up in the backseat of the Range Rover and half-carried her up to the apartment. Dennis even tucked her into bed, while Mac watched from the living room, a strange smile on his face.

“She’ll be fine, man.” Mac assured him when they got home, sensing his anxiety, “think of how many times you’ve gotten wasted and passed out - and you’re fine!”

Dennis smiled, a little weakly, still thinking he should’ve stayed with her for the night; he’d always been worried about her living alone, afraid she’d drink too much and take a fall, or choke on her own vomit somehow. It had almost been a relief when he and Mac had lived there, at least then he could keep an eye on the two people he worried about most.

He was never as afraid for Charlie and Frank; they had each other, after all.

“Hey,” Mac said, “wanna try out the new blanket?”

Dennis shivered; the heating was still broken in the apartment, maybe the blanket was just what he needed. He gave a short nod and Mac broke into a smile.

They spent the better part of the next half hour figuring out how to turn it on, deliberating on whether it was safe to plug it into an extension cable, and where it would be the most comfortable to use. Eventually, they settled on huddling up under it on the sofa.

“Charlie texted,” Mac said, sat they sat down, closing his eyes as Dennis wrapped his arms around him, “he and Frank spent the day dumpster diving, trying to find a new sound system for the bar.”

“Oh.” So that’s where they’d been, “did they find anything?”

“Apparently they found-” Mac stifled a yawn, burying his face in Dennis’ neck, “-they found some weights. Charlie was wondering if I wanted to have them.”

“I don’t know if we have space, Mac.”

Dennis glanced around the apartment, at all of the little books and knick knacks they’d gathered over the years; Mac had done a good job at replacing them after the fire. It almost felt like the apartment had never burnt down. The idea of a change, or an addition, to the structure of their lives, made Dennis’ stomach twist into knots.

“There’s space in my room.”

“Oh, right.”

Mac’s room was practically empty by this point; Dennis had convinced him to get rid of the dildo bike, on the grounds of it being unhygenic, meaning all that was really in there was a bed. Even the bed was more of a formality, something Dennis used to justify himself. If Mac still had his bed, then the two of them technically weren’t sleeping together full-time. It was just a habit.

Mac must’ve sensed him tense up, because he pulled back a little, removing his head from where it had been resting on Dennis’ shoulder and dropping his gaze to his hands. 

A part of Dennis wondered why Mac wouldn’t take charge; he’d been afraid of touching him lately. It was something so easy to see, the trepidation in his eyes before he picked him up, the nervous way he sometimes hung back before crawling into bed.

Dennis wanted to take a piece of paper and sign a formal agreement to let Mac kiss him. “I, Dennis Reynolds, hereby give one Ronald “Mac” McDonald permission to lean forward and make his move.”

But he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he wanted half the time, let alone how to ask for it.

Frustrated, he huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms; Mac looked at him, his expression softening.

“You look tired, man. Wanna just call it a night?”

Call it a night. Give up. Go to bed. Dennis was fine with that. He closed his eyes as Mac stood up and turned the blanket off, before carefully taking Dennis’ hand and pulling him to his feet.

As they walked to the bedroom together, hand in hand, Dennis began to question whether he’d misread Mac’s signals. It was obvious he wanted to bang him, everyone had known that for years, but feelings? Affection? The great big l-word?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it, not even as he took his makeup off. If Mac only wanted to bang him, then why did he always sit at the edge of the bath and watch as Dennis did this? How could he stand the sight of his bare face, pale and imperfect and gross? Dennis glanced in the mirror at Mac, trying to gauge his reaction as he gave his forehead one final wipe.

“Mac.” He said, just for the sake of having his name in his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Pass me my moisturiser.”

Mac dutifully grabbed the pot of cream, which was closer to Dennis than it was to him, and held it out, “I can’t believe you have to do this every night, man.” He said.

“It keeps the wrinkles at bay, Mac. We’re both getting older, you know. See,” he pointed at his crows feet, “my looks are fading already.”

That worried little frown appeared on Mac’s face again, “don’t say that, man. You look great.” He stood up and stared at Dennis in the mirror, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Stood next to each other, they were comically mismatched. Beside Mac, Dennis looked skeletal, in a way that almost impressed him.

“Hey,” he said, looking down at the sink, “do you want some moisturiser?”

Mac wrinkled his nose, “nah, man. I don’t need it! I drink plenty of water.”

“That’s not what- nevermind, sit down.”

Mac rolled his eyes a little, but took a step backwards and sat back down on the bath, closing his eyes in anticipation. Dennis dipped his fingers into the tub and gently worked the moisturiser into Mac’s cheek; a crease appeared in Mac’s forehead, but Dennis smoothed it out gently.

“It’s slimy.” Mac complained.

Dennis sighed, running his fingers across his temple, “Mac, I don’t buy high-end skincare products for you to call them  _ slimy.  _ Are you aware of how much this stuff costs?”

“Yeah, man - way too much! I see our bank statements!

He was joking, mostly, well aware that Dennis wrote off any beauty products as a business expense, but it still hurt a little that Mac didn’t appreciate his efforts to look good. Did he realise that half of this was for his sake?

Dennis dropped his hand from Mac’s cheek and looked back into the mirror, seeing his own face, pale and wrinkled and greasy. An acne scar beneath his eyebrow stood out red against his near-white skin, making him wince.

Mac had opened his eyes and was staring into the mirror as well, his gaze fixed on Dennis, “you could buy Dollar Store moisturiser and still look perfect, man.” He said, the compliment coming easy.

He did that, sometimes; forgot the meaning behind words and just said whatever popped into his head. Maybe he really was just tasteless, and not put off by what lay beneath Dennis’ makeup.

Dennis sighed. “Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

He must’ve lain there for an hour, maybe more, when he gave up on sleeping. Mac had begun to snore in a steady rhythm, dreaming so deeply that Dennis felt cruel waking him up.

Pulling on a hoodie, he tiptoed into the living room, shivering a little. He began to tidy up, doing the dishes he’d neglected the day before, and even sweeping some crumbs under the sofa.

After running out of things to do, he curled up on the windowsill and stared out at the skyline; there were no stars as usual, and light was beginning to bleed in from the bottom, a clear indication that he’d stayed up too late. He liked doing this, looking out at something vast and letting himself feel small for a moment. 

He could never just exist. There had to be a meaning to all his actions; no matter what he was doing or who he was with, he always had an explanation on the tip of his tongue, justifying why he did the things he did. 

Maybe someone else would have let this whole situation with Mac play out, just to see where it went, and whatever happened would happen. What did it matter if Mac cared for him, or if he was playing some long game of manipulation just so he could bang him? The result was always the same - a breakup, eventual unhappiness either way.

So why was he awake, agonising over it?

“Dennis?”

Dennis whipped around to see Mac stood in the doorway of their bedroom, blinking sleepily.

“Hey.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head, and Mac sighed, running a hand through his hair and crossing the room to lean his head against the window. His breath fogged up the cold glass, and Dennis watched, almost hypnotised, as Mac shut his eyes.

“It’s really, really early.” Mac said, his voice small in the apartment, which now seemed like it was trying to swallow the both of them.

Dennis allowed himself a short laugh, “or really, really late.”

Mac’s eyes snapped open, “let’s go on a walk!” He said, a sudden energy filling him and making him stand upright.

“A walk?” Dennis grimaced. It was cold and dark out, with the sun only just beginning to colour the sky. Not prime walking weather, especially not in Philly.

“It’ll be fun!”

“Mac..” There was a sparkle in Mac’s eye that Dennis had trouble saying no to; maybe a walk really would be fun. And maybe it was what he needed, “I’ll need to put my makeup back on.”

Mac pouted, “no, man, c’mon, I wanna go  _ now,  _ not in an hour’s time.”

“I don’t always take an hour-”

“-it’s dark out, we’re not gonna run into anyone at all, promise! And, if we do, we can, like, cross the street or something.”

So he had an agenda. Dennis could never figure out why, but ever since last Pride, Mac had been trying to better him; sending him kind texts, giving him little words of encouragement, even leaving self-help pamphlets on the kitchen table. It was all painfully transparent, and Dennis couldn’t help but feel a little afraid of it all. He sighed.

“Concealer,” he said firmly, “it’ll take five minutes.”

Mac mirrored Dennis’ sigh, but still looked pretty pleased. Dennis hadn’t left the apartment without a full face since he’d gotten home two years ago; he supposed this must be some kind of achievement in Mac’s eyes, a checker piece knocked off the board. He still didn’t understand the rules of the game.

Two minutes turned into ten, which turned into fifteen when Dennis had to convince Mac neither of them were going out in their pyjamas.

Dennis let out a long sigh when they got outside, watching as that familiar cloud of breath left him, like cigarette smoke that had been trapped between his ribs. Mac had made sure he was wrapped up tight, but he was still cold, his bare hands turning red and mottled.

“I need to buy new gloves.” He admitted, absentmindedly.

“You bought some last year,” Mac said, “they’re in your sock drawer.”

Dennis didn’t ask why Mac knew the exact contents of his sock drawer. Laundry was Mac’s job, obviously, since Dennis refused to touch Mac’s dirty clothes, but something about Mac ordering his things and keeping track of where they were knocked the wind out of him.

The two of them walked a long way. Mac had been right, it was fun; they didn’t meet any people on the street, but ran into a couple of stray cats and sad looking pigeons. At one point, Mac swore he saw Poppins napping behind a trash can, but it turned out to just be an old pillow.

They reached the river, somehow, and stood for a while, leaning against each other as they gazed out across the murky water. The sun had almost fully risen by now, its watery light dispelling across the sky and shining in Dennis’ eyes. It made him feel tired.

He wrapped an arm around Mac’s waist, leaning against him for support.

“Still cold?” Mac asked, and Dennis shook his head.

“Let’s just stay here for a while.” Dennis said, and he felt Mac grip his wrist, as though he understood.

There was a moment of peaceful silence between them before Mac mirrored Dennis, wrapping his arm around his waist and drawing him in closer, “love you.” He mumbled in Dennis’ ear, like it was a secret.

Of course, he didn’t know the magnitude of what he was saying - he told Dennis he loved him all the time, for the smallest and silliest of reasons. There was no reason for the ground to shift beneath Dennis’ feet, nor was there a reason for him to duck his head into Mac’s neck.

Still. It was always nice to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi u can find me on macdenniskiss as usual! ty for sticking w me for 4 chapters <3
> 
> (also, i wanna say i totally forgot i snuck in mac saying ily so when i went to edit this i went thru several emotions)


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Back when they'd been younger, they'd pretended to be a married couple for a scheme. Dennis had enjoyed it, calling Mac his baby and holding his hand in front of everyone - that had been ideal, that had let Dennis feel good without having to examine why._
> 
> _He wanted to do that again, he wanted to love Mac as somebody else and not deal with the consequences. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hope everyone's been having a good week, enjoy !!
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> * references to past abuse (mild) 
> 
> * references to disordered eating (mild)

Dennis’ feet hurt. Saturday night had always been his least favourite shift; Frank would make sure everyone was in early to help Charlie clean the bar, and after that he was supposed to be on his feet all night, serving drinks and talking to customers.

Most weeks, he’d be able to sneak off into the back office for a few hours, maybe enjoy a beer with Dee or play a little pool with Mac; it very rarely got so busy that he actually had to do his job. Now, with this gay bar scheme, he hadn’t had a chance to sit down all night.

He pumped at the soda gun, swearing under his breath when he realised it was clogged.

“Frank,” he called across the bar, “Frank, get over here you son of a bitch!"

Frank was ignoring him, pretending to be engrossed in conversation with Charlie; he’d been avoiding Dennis all night, out of some kind of guilt, or maybe even fear. By now, he knew how easily Dennis could sabotage a scheme he didn't like.

Next to him, Mac was busy rubbing the bar down with a damp cloth, frowning as the stain he was working at stayed stubbornly put.

“Leave it,” Dennis sighed, tapping Mac’s arm, “that’s been there for years, not even Charlie can budge it."

“I’m just so  _ bored,  _ Dennis. Why don’t you teach me how to make another cocktail? That way I can start serving customers!”

“Mac, what you really need to learn is basic maths; you know we’re not a cocktail bar, right?”

Mac had been trying to “help” all evening; he still wasn’t very good at it, Dennis had never seen so many pissed customers complaining about being short-changed. Even Charlie was getting annoyed with him, having to constantly come over and sweep up broken glass.

Mac had a need to help, Dennis knew this. He just wished he knew how much he was helping just by standing there; alone, Dennis would’ve already collapsed on the floor, overwhelmed by the stress and the exhaustion, and the thumping music Frank had insisted they play. With Mac beside him, he felt grounded.

“If you wanna make yourself useful, why don’t you go and unclog the soda gun for me?” Dennis pleaded, looking desperately over his shoulder at Frank, who was still feigning ignorance.

“Again?”

“Yes, again, Mac! I’ve been complaining about these shitty pipes for years; you see what I have to put up with now?”

Mac placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I’ll fix it,” he said softly, “but after, I wanna learn how to make a new drink.”

“Fine,” Dennis sighed, “just do it quickly, man, there are customers waiting.”

He glanced at the impatient throng of people at the bar, all glaring at him as though it was  _ his  _ fault Frank refused to pay for better equipment; he glared back. Mac patted his cheek gently, drawing his attention back to him.

“You’ll be alright for two minutes?” He asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Jesus, Mac, yes - I’ll be okay if you leave me unsupervised for two fucking minutes.” He’d meant for the words to come out harsh, but he realised there was no real heat behind them.

“Relax, man,” Mac said, giving Dennis’ cheek one final pat before smiling and disappearing into the keg room, leaving the door slightly ajar - Dennis relaxed his jaw, the ghost of Mac’s fingers still tickling his face. Without thinking, he shook his head and greeted a patron, picking up the dirty cloth Mac had been using and carefully twisting it between his hands. 

“Sorry about the wait,” he said, not sorry at all.

The customer smiled. nodding towards the keg room, “he keeping you busy?”

“As usual.” Dennis rolled his eyes, glad to be talking to someone who seemed to understand how the service industry worked, “he’s  _ supposed  _ to be our bouncer, but he hangs around up here as much as he can.”

The man laughed, leaning against the bar for a second before drawing back and wrinkling his nose as his arms came away sticky, “my boyfriend’s the same - I work at the Wawa, you know, down the street? He comes in at least twice a day to get bullshit that we don’t even need, just so he can come and bother me.”

“Ah - right,” Dennis’ mouth went a little dry as he realised the miscommunication, “can I get you anything, man?”

“Just a beer, thanks.”

Dennis got him the drink, thankful he hadn’t asked for anything with soda in it.

Just as he was giving the customer his change, he felt Mac come up behind him and drop a familiar arm around his shoulder; the customer smiled one last time at the two of them, wishing them a good night before taking his drink and leaving.

Dennis shrugged Mac off, handing him the dirty cloth, “he thought you were my boyfriend.” He mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Oh?”

“I just-” still avoiding Mac’s gaze, Dennis picked up the soda gun and began making the drinks he’d been neglecting, “the word he used. ‘Boyfriend.’ Aren’t we a little old for that?”

Mac stood there for a second, thoughtfully, before beginning to scrub at the same spot on the bar again, trying to get rid of the stubborn stain, “we can call it whatever we want, man,” he said quietly, “like, it’s just us. Boyfriends, partners, husbands. It’s all the same.”

“Husbands? Mac, we aren’t even married!” Dennis slammed a drink down on the bar.

The patron Dennis had just handed their drink gave a little snort of laughter before hurrying off, obviously under the impression they’d just witnessed the beginning of a lover’s quarrel.

Mac put the cloth down, leaning against the bar, “yeah, but it’s all pretend, isn’t it?”

“Pretend?”

“Yeah - I mean, we’re not actually boyfriends, it’s all just for the scheme.” Mac explained, with an exaggerated air of patience, “or, at least I thought it was?” He tilted his head, hopeful.

Deep in Dennis' brain, a dam broke.

So, that’s what it had all been about: the early morning walk, the way Mac had held him and told him he’d loved him, the hours they’d spent curled up in bed after. It had all just been a part of the scheme.

Maybe there was an even larger scheme at play here - Dennis realised, with a sick jolt to his stomach, that Mac must be manipulating him somehow. He didn’t know when it had started, maybe last week, maybe last month, maybe it had started after he’d gotten back from North Dakota. All Dennis knew, was that he was suddenly dependent on Mac, back to spending every waking hour with him, just like they had back in the old days.

This scheme must’ve been to draw them closer together; Mac had been desensitising him to romantic situations, getting him used to being touched and fussed over. Dennis squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick.

“Of course it’s just a scheme, Mac,” he said brusquely, “what - did you think I actually wanted to be in a relationship with you?”

“No, man, I just wasn’t sure if-”

“-because I don’t. I’ve told you this multiple times, Mac, and you don’t listen!” Dennis was aware he was raising his voice, causing a scene. “Jesus  _ Christ.” _

“No, I know that, but-” Mac reached out to take Dennis’ arm, but Dennis slapped his hands away, turning on his heel and running out of the bar.

He slammed the bar door behind him, resting his forehead against Paddy’s rough brick exterior and breathing heavily, willing himself not to cry or break something. For a moment, he wondered if Mac would follow him and try to explain himself; then, he wondered if he even wanted him to.

The door stayed stubbornly closed.

Dennis sighed, turning to slump his back against the wall and tilting his head to look up at the smoggy night sky. It was cold again, but Dennis was too proud to go back into the bar to retrieve his coat. He shivered, shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets and curling in on himself, shoulders tensing against the oppressive air.

He got into the Range Rover and turned the heat up to the highest setting, then revved the engine loudly, hoping Mac could hear. Then, he stepped on the gas.

Driving through Philly had used to calm him down when he was younger; he’d done it a lot as a teen, just storming out of the house and driving blindly after an argument with his parents. Sometimes, he’d call on Mac and Charlie and they’d hotbox together, talking loudly enough that Dennis forgot whatever it was that was bothering him.

Tonight, he had nobody to distract him. He tried to turn the radio on, but the presenter’s bright voice made him grind his teeth, so he switched to a cassette. It was a new mixtape, one Mac had popped in that morning.

A gentle love song began to bleed from the stereo and Dennis almost crashed the car as he rushed to turn it off; everything was polluted by it, the love that was forcing its way into his life.

Surely this was further evidence of Mac manipulating him - who made romantic mixtapes?

He muttered angrily to himself before realising he’d been driving almost on autopilot - squinting out the window, he realised he was in his childhood neighbourhood, near his old home. It seemed natural that he’d come here, as though it was some kind of muscle memory.

Now driving at a snail’s pace, he took a deep breath, pausing when he recognised a familiar entrance. He drove through it before stopping where the road ended, turning the engine off and getting out of the car; his feet tread a well-worn path to a familiar clearing.

The old park. He, Charlie, Dee and Mac had used to come here near-daily during the summer holidays; it was mostly forgotten by the residents nearby, which had made it the perfect hangout spot for them to smoke without being bothered. They must’ve spent hundreds of hours splayed out on the warm grass or climbing the trees that hung weepily over the murky lake.

Dennis sighed, inhaling the fresh air; he wasn’t exactly out of the city, but something about being surrounded by grass and trees and bushes unknotted his chest a little. He sat down on the floor, not even caring when he realised the grass was wet.

He wanted to sit there forever, to become the dirt that lay beneath him and melt into the ground; he wanted to roll into the lake and tangle himself up in the reeds, like the paintings of Ophelia that had entranced him back in middle school. It was all that was left for him, really.

He sat for so long that a small bird landed next to him, hopping curiously around his legs, pecking at the ground for food. Despite everything, it made Dennis smile; it was small and bright, and he recognised it as the type of bird that had used to be bold enough to try and steal the snacks he and the gang had brought when they’d come down here all those years ago.

The bird didn’t fly away, not even when he leant forward and held out his hand, hovering his fingers inches away from it - he realised it must be used to people, kind people, and it didn’t occur to it that he could ever hurt it. For a second, he had a compulsion to do just that, to grab at it and snap its neck, but he blinked and shook his head, pulling his hand away.

“Stop being weird.” He said to himself firmly, and watched as the bird hopped off.

Having completely lost his train of thought, Dennis realised he was freezing; his breath was coming in short cloudy bursts, and he was shaking so hard he was worried he’d break something. He stumbled to his feet, feeling drunk on something and retraced his steps back to the car.

Once inside, he slammed his hands on the steering wheel and gave a loud yell for no other reason than it had been building inside of him all evening. It made him feel a little better. 

He glanced in the rearview mirror and fixed his hair before pulling out and driving home.

* * *

“Oh, Dennis, thank God.” Mac said, rushing at him as he opened the apartment door.

Dennis scowled a little, nor falling for Mac’s act anymore. Still, Mac pulled him into a bone-crushing hug; there was something in it, a stiffness, that told Dennis the argument from earlier had shaken him. 

Giving a little scoff, Dennis wriggled in Mac’s arms, “alright, man, that’s enough. Jesus.”

Mac let him go in an instant, taking a big step backwards and searching Dennis’ face. He looked a mess - his hair was sticking up at an angle, as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times, and he smelled more strongly of spirits than usual. Dennis wondered why he was home so early, surely the bar was still open? Had Frank let him go?

“I thought you’d gone again.” Mac’s voice was so small that Dennis almost caved.

Instead, he walked past him and headed for the fridge, grabbing a sorely-needed beer, “I didn’t realise I had to tell you every time I went out for the evening.”

“Come on, Dennis…”

“I’ve already told you, Mac, you’re not my boyfriend - not my boyfriend, nor my partner, nor my... husband,” he spat the last syllable out as though it was an olive pit or a dirty word, “you can’t manipulate me into being something I don't want to be.”

Dennis opened his beer and took a swig, wincing as the cold burnt his teeth - he leaned on the kitchen counter to watch Mac shuffle his feet, struggling to form a sentence.

"Manipulate you?” He sounded hurt.

Dennis was undeterred, “yes, Mac, manipulate me, Jesus Christ. I invented this, the systems, the games, all of it. Let me guess - you were going to slowly make me fall in love with you as we pretended to be a couple? And after all that I’d finally bang you?”

“Dennis-”

“No, no, Mac, it’s fine! It’s just,” Dennis laughed then, so falsely that Mac visibly winced, “it’s just a little pathetic! All this to bang me? I know I’m irrestitable and all, but holy fuck.”

“I’m not manipulating you, oh my God, bro! Not everyone is into fucked up games like you are!”

Dennis found himself stamping his foot, “then what are you doing? What are you getting out of pretending to date me at the bar, what are you getting out of all the fussing and the touching and the cuddling? You cleaned up my vomit, Mac. You took me on a walk at five in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. People don’t do that! That’s not a normal thing to do for someone!”

“Goddamn it, Dennis, use your head! I’m so fucking sick of this, I-”

Mac pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and crossed the room, sitting heavily on the couch; Dennis stared at his slumped shoulders and felt something tug at his chest.

“I’m sick of manipulation, okay?” Mac continued, “I’m sick of it. I just - I just wanna be normal. I wanna go grocery shopping with you, and eat dinner with you, and make you feel safe. Is that too much? Am I not allowed to want just that much?

And, like, I love you, man. You know that - I tell you all the time, and every time I hope it’ll stick somehow. I don’t give a shit whether you love me back, okay? I just… yeah.”

Mac rarely spoke for such long periods of time; Dennis’ hands felt heavy and he turned away, unable to look at his shoulders for a moment longer. If Mac wasn't lying, then that had been some kind of confession. He struggled to find a loose thread long enough to pick apart what he'd just given him, “then why won’t you kiss me?” He asked, desperately.

“What?”

“If you love me,  _ actually  _ love me and don’t just wanna bang me or control me, then why won’t you just fucking kiss me already?”

“Wh-” Mac made a strange choking noise, “that’s what this is about? Dennis, last time I tried to kiss you, you called me out in a sexual assault seminar. You  _ said  _ you didn’t want me kissing you.”

"Well, I didn’t. I don’t.” 

What did he want? He felt as though he was being torn in half, the ends of him more frayed than the hems of Mac's shirts. Of course he wanted Mac to kiss him, he wanted little else, but he wanted him to kiss him in a way that kept all the doors inside him locked, he wanted to be kissed from a distance, if such a thing was possible.

Back when they'd been younger, they'd pretended to be a married couple for a scheme. Dennis had enjoyed it, calling Mac his baby and holding his hand in front of everyone - that had been ideal, that had let Dennis feel good without having to examine why.

He wanted to do that again, he wanted to love Mac as somebody else and not deal with the consequences. 

Mac was silent for a long time, before Dennis heard him stand up and walk further away, probably to look out the window. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come back, man.” He said, eventually.

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” there was a quality to Mac’s voice, thick, as though he was trying too hard to keep it steady. It reminded Dennis of the way he’d spoken before he’d come out.

“Why?” Dennis asked.

“It was easier. I hated you and it was so much easier; before you came home, I was almost over you, you realise that?”

“You bought a sex doll of me, Mac! You banged it the night before I came home - your weird obsession with me was far from gone.”

“This isn’t about banging, Dennis, it was never about banging!” Mac burst out, his voice suddenly filling the apartment, so loud Dennis was worried the neighbours would come knocking, “this is about  _ love,  _ something you don’t fucking understand. You don’t get it, right? Love: you don’t understand it?”

Did he have to understand something to feel it? “No.” Dennis said, the only word he could get out without cracking completely.

“Didn’t think so.”

Mac didn’t stand up; Dennis pushed down the urge to walk over to him and wrap his arms around him, in a way he realised he’d been doing a lot recently. Had Mac really manipulated him into wanting to touch him? Or was that something he’d done to himself?

His hands felt empty.

“I’m going to bed,” Dennis announced, pretty sure Mac wasn’t even listening.

It occurred to him, after he got into the bedroom, that Mac might try following him - that thought actively stopped him from locking the door.

He went to the bathroom alone and cleaned his face, watching as his immaculate image in the mirror became ghoulish and pale; the empty space behind his shoulder gaped like a wound and he shut his eyes, replaying the argument in his mind.

What did he want? 

Did he want Mac to follow him everywhere and apologise for doing the best he could, or did he want him to stand his ground and be sure of himself? Did he want him to tell him what he was, or did him calling Dennis gay make him want to scream? Did he want him to touch him, or was the hurt not worth the comfort? 

He stood up, mechanically, and went to bed, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Alone in the dark, and only alone in the dark, he could admit it to himself: he was in love with Mac. Even just thinking that phrase made him feel wobbly, like he'd committed some kind of betrayal against himself.

Of course he experienced love. Mac was right, he didn't understand it, but he felt it deep inside of him nonetheless. Love was caring when someone drank too much, love was calling someone up to check on them, love was cooking, love was being sad when you lost someone and happy if you found them again, love was early morning walks and feeling awake even when you were tired.

He loved Dee, and Charlie, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he loved Frank, in his own fucked up way. But, Mac was different. The way he loved him wasn't stronger or weaker, bigger or smaller, it was just different. And that difference scared the shit out of him.

Dennis rolled onto his side, staring at the empty space where Mac usually slept. He wondered how this would have all played out if Mac had been a woman - would he still be just as afraid of it all? The way his parents arguments still replayed in the back of his mind told him yes, but the way his heart contracted when he thought about the day Mac had come out told him no.

Right then, he tried to whisper the magic words to himself, the two words Mac had said before leaving the arbitration room - he remembered the sigh of relief he'd given, how happy he’d looked. He wanted that for himself, the weight of it off his shoulders. He'd never been as strong as Mac, he couldn't carry what he was capable of carrying. It was crushing him.

"I'm-" he whispered, tasting the words like they were a strange new fruit, "I'm-"

He couldn't do it. 

He gave up, rolling onto his back once again, and fell into a fitful sleep.

  
  


* * *

The next morning, he was disoriented; everything felt slightly off its axis without the weight of Mac’s arm around him, and for a second he wondered if he’d gotten up early to make breakfast like he sometimes he did. But then the events of the night before hit him.

He sat upright and listened hard, wondering where Mac had slept - the guilty part of him hoped he’d gone to Charlie’s for the night, so he would have a few more hours before he had to face him.

The argument was going to have consequences, Dennis knew that, but he also knew he wasn’t ready to take back what he’d said; for all he knew, Mac really was manipulating him and he’d been right to be suspicious. 

Tiptoeing across the room, he cracked the bedroom door open and looked out. Instantly, his eyes fell on Mac, who was curled up on the couch in his clothes from the night before. Empty beer bottles littered the carpet beneath him, and Dennis couldn’t help but remember how he’d been in the same position a couple of nights ago.

He walked slowly over to the couch and checked Mac was still alive. He stank, and was cold to the touch, but he was breathing deeply; Dennis picked up a blanket from under the sofa and threw it gently over him

Through the living room windows, he could see the sunrise; it touched the clouds, turning them a dusty orange that made his heart a little lighter. He felt a sudden urge to get outside and go on a walk, though he wasn’t sure if he dared to without Mac by his side.

The urge grew stronger, and a few minutes later he found himself hurriedly dressing and applying makeup; he decided to buy something nice for breakfast, to sweeten Mac up a little. Maybe Danish pastries would make him more forgivable.

Before leaving the apartment, Dennis picked up the pen and paper they kept by the fridge and scrawled a quick note,

_ “Gone on a walk, talk later.”  _ he wrote, before pausing for a second and adding a little smiley face. Mac had always liked his doodles.

It was a little warmer outside than it had been in previous days. Dennis realised he’d accidentally taken one of Mac’s jackets; it was slightly short on him, but it made him feel safe, despite being a poor substitute for Mac's presence.

He looked up at the watery sky and began to walk, barely even registering where he was going - there were a few other people on the street, heading to work or walking home after a heavy night of drinking. None of them looked twice at him. He was just another tired face amongst many.

It was about half an hour before he stopped walking and looked around him, unsure if he even knew where he was. He wasn’t near any of his usual spots, and had somehow walked in the opposite direction of anywhere familiar; he glanced in the window of the nearest store and realised that it was an animal shelter. He hadn’t realised he lived so close to one.

A strange impulse drew him to the door and made him walk inside; he was greeted by a bright voice, far too bright for so early in the morning.

“Hey, welcome!”

He looked at the girl behind the counter; sure enough, her bright smile was false, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had an energy drink in her hand and was eating a granola bar, in what Dennis recognised to be the sad breakfast of someone tragically hungover.

“I’m- I’m just looking.” He said sheepishly, gesturing towards the cages, “can I look?”

“Go right ahead.”

Dennis stepped towards the cages and peered into them; they were mostly full of overexcited dogs - some jumped at him, barking and wagging their tails, and he cringed backwards. He remembered his mum’s mean old dog who’d used to nip him when nobody was looking. Not even Mac had liked him.

“Don’t you have any cats?” He asked, turning to the girl.

She frowned, “this is a dog shelter, it says on the sign.”

“Ah.”

Dennis was about to leave, even more frustrated than before, when a dog caught his eye. It was small, and the only one with its paws not up against the bars. Dennis crouched down to get a better look, wiggling his fingers against the cage; the dog wagged its tail and walked calmly towards him, headbutting his hand gently and licking his thumb. He laughed.

“That’s Pippin,” the girl said, a little softer than before, “she’s been here the longest.”

“Nobody wants her?”

The girl sighed and hopped over the desk, unlocking Pippin’s cage; she trotted out and sat at Dennis’ feet, looking up at him with wide eyes. He patted her head, and he could’ve sworn she smiled.

The girl, whose name was Julia according to her nametag, joined Dennis by scratching under Pippin’s chin, “she came here a few years ago, as part of a pair; two ex-therapy dogs. Eventually, her friend passed away and she’s been sad and quiet ever since.”

“Oh,” Dennis said. For some inexplicable reason, he felt a pang of guilt deep within his chest at the thought of Pippin alone, having lost her friend.

He looked down at the dog, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. Goddamn it, he knew exactly what he had to do and he loathed himself for it.

“I’ll take her,” he said, the words curdling in his mouth, “I’ll need to talk to my roommate but, uh, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Julia stood up, taken aback, “you’re sure? She’ll need a lot of attention.”

“Yeah - I mean my roommate’s kinda mad at me but I’m sure he won’t mind, he loves dogs, y’know? He’ll treat her like his own daughter.”

“That’s - uh, okay! Nice!” Julia beamed, “have you had a pet before? I can give you some pamphlets if you want.”

She stood up and hurried to her desk, rummaging in it before producing a handful of brightly coloured leaflets, looking disproportionately excited.

Dennis’ face heated up as he remembered Dennis Jr’s fate, “yeah, I think we’ll be needing a little help.”

Half an hour later, Dennis walked out of the shelter with a long shopping list and a pocketful of pamphlets. Julia had been strangely happy at the thought of getting rid of Pippin - Dennis couldn’t imagine that, bonding with an animal then being selfless enough to be happy for them when they finally found someone to live with. Or, maybe she was just glad to have one less pile of shit to shovel in the morning. Dennis didn’t know.

He somehow retraced his steps back to the apartment, feeling lighter and happier than he had in a long while; the argument from the night before was barely weighing on him at all. Sure, maybe Mac was upset, but he was sure he’d been catastrophising how angry he was; he was sure everything would go back to normal as soon as he found out about the dog.

“Hey, Mac, buddy! I have news!” He called as he burst into the apartment. 

He stopped short, taking in the scene before him; the apartment was utterly silent, eerily deserted. The beer bottles that had littered the floor earlier had been cleared up, and the note he’d left on the kitchen counter was nowhere to be seen. Mac was also missing.

Dennis ducked his head into their bedroom, checking that Mac hadn’t gone to sleep somewhere more comfortable, when he found it empty, he decided to brave Mac’s room, which had been mostly ignored for weeks now.

When he looked inside, he realised, with a jolt, that the bed had disappeared. There was nothing in there but some gym equipment, old and rusted, as though it had been pulled out of the trash; Dennis guessed it had been dropped over by Frank and Charlie at some point. 

Regret flooded through him as he realised Mac must have not been lying after all. He was serious about this, about them. Maybe he’d even felt the same way as Dennis, as though they were inching towards what would naturally become a relationship. Getting rid of the bed was a bold move, one that hadn’t worked in the past, and Dennis almost respected him for having the balls to do it.

He pulled out his phone, sending off a text to Mac,  _ “got news, where u?”  _ Then, he sent a string of emojis that he hoped Mac would be able to interpret as apologetic.

Putting his phone away, he brewed himself a cup of coffee, sure Mac would get back to him quickly - the man never took more than a few minutes to answer Dennis’ texts, and that time often seemed to be spent writing out long paragraphs. Dennis had watched him do it once, sending him a message from across the bar and watching as Mac received it, his face lighting up; he’d spent the next couple of minutes typing intently, his tongue stuck between his lips in concentration. It had fascinated Dennis that he cared that much, that he was willing to try that hard to communicate with him, despite his limited vocabulary.

Dennis checked his phone, heart leaping when he saw Mac had replied.  _ “At Charlie’s.”  _ It read. The punctuation mark knocked the air from Dennis’ lungs. It was obvious that Mac was still pissed.

_ “Want lunch?”  _ Dennis replied, grasping at straws - usually, Mac would jump at the opportunity to eat with Dennis.

He took a few minutes to reply, and Dennis suspected he was conferring with Charlie. His message popped up on the screen just as Dennis’ mind began to wander,  _ “busy.”  _ It read.

Dennis sighed. Then, putting aside the last of his pride, he called him.

Mac picked up on the second ring, “what do you want, Dennis?”

“Uh,” Dennis stirred his coffee, suddenly realising he’d dialled Mac’s number without planning what he was going to say, “can you come home?”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something, man.” Mac sounded strained, and Dennis was sure he heard Charlie whining something in the background.

“Please?” The word tasted like copper in his mouth, “I just wanna talk.”

A crash sounded on Mac’s end and he swore loudly, making Dennis hold the phone away from his ear; he really did sound busy.

When he’d stopped swearing, he sighed, “why? If you wanna talk to someone, why don’t you talk to Dee?”

“But-”

“You said it yourself last night, Dennis, I’m not your boyfriend; I don’t need to do what you tell me to do.” The slightly mechanical way Mac was talking tipped Dennis off that he’d been coached by Frank and Charlie.

“Okay.” He said heavily, “see you later?”

“Sure.”

“Bye.”

Mac sighed again, heavily, as though tired, “bye.”

“Bye.”

Dennis let desperation cloud his voice. He wanted to do this forever, to exchange goodbyes until Mac walked right through the apartment door, his phone still glued to his ear. He knew he was being dramatic, that he’d see Mac in a matter of hours. Still, the knot in his stomach tightened as Mac hung up, the line falling dead without another word.

Dennis sat at the kitchen table for an hour. And then another. And then another. His coffee grew cold, but he continued to sip at it every now and then, barely registering the sludge as it drained down his throat.

After a while, he realised he’d forgotten to tell Mac about the dog - he tried to imagine how he’d react, whether he’d be pleased or whether he’d accuse Dennis of trying to win him over after being a dick. He ran through five different versions of the same conversation, his eyes growing sore and glassy from staring at the same spot on the table.

By the time he got bored of daydreaming, the sun had begun to set - he realised, guiltily, that he hadn’t eaten all day. He knew Mac would be upset if he found out.

Thinking of Mac, he opened his phone to see if he’d texted. He hadn’t. Frustrated, Dennis messaged him,  _ “coming home soon?”  _ He typed, before erasing it and instead sending,  _ “want takeout 2nite?” _

Mac didn’t respond.

_ “Pizza?”  _ He tried again, before waiting a second and adding,  _ “Chinese?” _

After a few minutes, Mac responded with another one word answer.  _ “Chinese.”  _ He said, and Dennis’ heart sank - it was so far from his usual rambling messages, he almost felt as though he was talking to a stranger.

_ “K.”  _ He responded, then,  _ “I’ll get ur usual - shall I order it now? Later? When r u coming home? How is Charlie?” _

Mac didn’t reply again. So, Dennis didn’t order the food. He paced around for a few minutes before settling on the couch, turning on the TV and distracting himself with some shitty reality show.

The show’s credits were rolling when the apartment door unlocked; Dennis’ head snapped towards it and he sat up, watching carefully as Mac walked in with his head hung low. His hair was soaked with rain, slicked down against his head in a way that tugged at Dennis’ heartstrings.

“Hey, man.” His voice was cautiously casual, and he shrugged his wet jacket off, letting it drop to the floor.

Dennis stood up, stretching his arms, “how was Charlie?”

“Fine.”

“Oh. Uh, that’s good.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Mac frowned at him, “have you ordered the food yet?”

“No, I- I didn’t know when you were getting back.”

Some instinct seemed to take over Mac and he stepped forward, looking carefully at Dennis, “have you eaten at all today?”

“I-” the words got caught in Dennis’ chest. He wanted to badly to lie to Mac and let the worry on his face melt away, but it felt wrong, somehow. “I forgot.”

“Alright.” His expression softened a little, “alright, man. You order the takeout, I’ll set the table, okay?”

They got to work on their little tasks. Dennis ordered their food, almost robotically listing off their usuals, while Mac gently rummaged through their cutlery. It made Dennis’ heart ache to watch him, so strangely gentle, lest the sound of metal against metal hurt Dennis’ head in that way it sometimes did.

The food arrived and neither of them spoke; usually, during dinner, they’d gossip and swap stories. On their darkest days, they’d at least acknowledge each other’s presence with casual touches and as much eye contact as they could bear. Tonight, Mac was avoiding Dennis’ gaze. He apologised every time their hands brushed, and Dennis was sure he’d pushed their chairs further apart than usual.

“Hey,” Dennis said eventually, putting his fork down.

“I can’t do this.” Mac burst out, the dam broken.

“Huh?”

“This,” Mac gestured between the two of them, “this  _ thing,  _ I can’t do it anymore. It hurts.”

“Mac..” 

“Dennis?”

Dennis pushed his plate away, any semblance of appetite gone, “listen, Mac. I know I was kind of a dick last night, but-”

“-but?” Mac laughed, not unkindly, “Dennis, I’ve known you for a million years and I don’t think you’ve gone a full day without being a dick. I don’t care.

What I mean is, like, this whole pretending thing? It has to stop, it makes me feel like I’m still-” Mac cut off, but squeezed his hands in front of his chest, a visual representation of the way he’d lived for near forty years of his life.

“Oh.”

“Like, I get it, man, okay? If you don’t want anyone else to know, if you just want to keep it between us, I don’t mind,” he hesitantly took Dennis’ hand, squeezing it when he was met with no resistance, “if that’s really what you want, I don’t mind.”

“Mac, I’m sorry, but you know I’m not-”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Dennis! I’m not gonna force anything from you, but I can’t keep denying things anymore, not to myself! Either we’re a couple, or we’re not! Either I’m allowed to touch you and call you baby, or I’m not. You just need to tell me what you  _ want,  _ Dennis! You don’t have to come out or- or whatever. I just need to know where I stand, man. It’s killing me. I can’t fucking go through this, not again.”

“Mac…”

“Sorry.” He dropped Dennis’ hand, “sorry, I just - I need to know what you want.”

Out of all the things Dennis had expected to be met with, this had not been one of them. He’d been bracing himself for anger, or resentment for tears; but, Mac being kind and understanding was too much for him.

“I don’t know what I want.” He said, edging as close to the truth as he would allow himself.

Mac sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Well,  _ I  _ just want what’s best for you - for us.” He emphasised the last word, as though Dennis wouldn’t understand the implicit meaning if he didn’t. Dennis understood perfectly well: no matter what the two of them did, they were always a pair. “But, uh, Dennis. I need you to give me a straight answer on this one. Either we’re together, or we’re not. You can’t have both.”

He seemed so sure of himself; Dennis suspected once again that he’d spent the day at Charlie’s being told what to say, what to do. It wasn’t like him to stand up to Dennis, and Dennis was almost proud of him for it. Or, at least, he would have been had his heart not been racing too fast for him to think. He knew what this was, it was an ultimatum. A choice.

Dennis stood up, his chair scraping noisily against the kitchen floor, “I need time to think, I can’t just… I need a moment.”

“Yeah?” Mac said, mirroring Dennis and getting to his feet, “that’s okay, but, uh, we can’t keep putting this off forever.”

“A day?”

“That’s… reasonable.” He sounded almost surprised, “I can deal with that.”

“Okay. Good.”

They ran out of things to say; Mac clasped his hands looking down at their untouched dinner. Dennis wondered what he was thinking about - his sixth sense for Dennis’ feelings didn’t exactly run both ways, and Dennis had recently realised he couldn’t read him like he’d used to. 

Dennis coughed, getting Mac’s attention, “uh - I think I’m gonna sleep over at Dee’s tonight. Just, like, to think.”

“Do you want me to help you pack a bag?” Mac asked, and something inside of Dennis squeezed too tight, threatening to burst.

“No. It’s just for the night, Mac.”

“But, your moisturiser-”

“-it’s  _ fine,  _ Mac. I’ll be fine.”

It occurred to him that what he was doing was selfish, that he was leaving Mac to sleep alone for the second night in a row; he almost wanted to tell him yes, tell him he’d let him have him however he wanted and deal with the consequences of his discomfort later. But a part of him knew that wasn’t what Mac wanted, not really.

He realised, suddenly, that maybe the kindest thing to do for Mac was to take care of himself.

“Actually, uh-” he said, stepping away, “I might grab a change of clothes, and maybe a washbag. Could you-” he paused, not quite believing what he was about to say, “could you peel me an apple for the journey?”

Mac’s face lit up, “sure!” Always happy to help, always glad to be useful. It made Dennis’ head hurt.

He went to his room and threw some things into a bag. Makeup wipes, jeans, a clean shirt, underwear, toothbrush, concealer, socks. The result barely filled his rucksack. He looked around wildly for a book or something that belonged to him that was worth taking along - surely his life outside of the apartment didn’t come down to this, clothes and toiletries, there must be something more to him than that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a framed photo of himself and Mac; it was one of the few things Mac had changed when he’d renovated their apartment after the fire. Being unable to replace all their old pictures, he’d taken new ones, or printed out ones he’d collected since they’d gone digital and stuck them in frames. Dennis had pretended to find it weird, but it was somehow comforting to be able to glance at the bookshelf and see the gang smiling back at him.

This particular picture was one of Dennis’ favourites - it was a candid that Charlie had taken a couple of years ago, on one of the many occasions he’d been spying on them. They were smiling at each other, laughing at some forgotten joke, and the look on Mac’s face was honest in a way that so many pictures of him pre-coming out could never quite capture.

Dennis picked up the frame and slipped it into his rucksack.

“Got everything you need?” Mac sounded nervous, and Dennis gave him a long look as he stepped into the middle of the living room.

“Yeah.”

Mac handed him his apple, looking a little sick; Dennis bit into it. Neither of them said a word and Dennis wondered whether Mac was second guessing himself. He got funny about Dennis going places alone sometimes, as though he wasn’t sure if he was going to come back. Dennis couldn’t fault him for worrying.

“So, uh-” Mac ran a hand through his hair, “see you tomorrow?”

The apple turned to ash in Dennis’ mouth as the situation hit him. This was what his mum and Frank had used to do when he was a kid; they’d argue until Frank left and went to stay in a hotel for a week. Was this what he and Mac had come to already?

“Sure.”

Mac stepped forward, a little nervously. Dennis couldn’t tell what his angle was, and almost thought he was going to kiss him, before he folded him into a tight hug. Dennis closed his eyes, feeling his muscles loosen as Mac gripped at his back, his neck, his hair, desperately, as though he’d be able to make him stay if he touched him just right.

“It’s only a day,” Dennis reminded him, not sure whether the words were comforting or ominous.

Mac nodded into him, his hair brushing Dennis’ neck and let him go, turning away so quickly that Dennis worried about the expression he must’ve been hiding in his shoulder.

“See you.” He said, as he began to clear away the untouched food from earlier.

Dennis shuffled his feet, staring at Mac’s stiff shoulders, “bye.”

It was only when he’d left the apartment that he realised, once again, he’d forgotten to mention the dog.

* * *

“Dee, open up! Open up!”

Dee answered the door with a glare; she was in her pyjamas already, and obviously in the process of getting ready for bed.

“Fuck you, Dennis.” She said, leaving the door open and walking back into her apartment to sit on the couch, her arms firmly crossed.

Dennis widened his eyes,  _ “ _ What did I do?”

Still, he followed her, plopping down on the couch and closing his eyes. Her apartment almost smelt like home; Dennis inhaled deeply, revelling in the moment of silence before the inevitable questions Dee was going to bombard him with. He knew something must’ve gone down at the bar after he’d stormed out yesterday.

Dee kicked at his shins, “Frank’s plotting to kill you, you know that, right?”

“He’s more than welcome to,” Dennis mumbled, “might be doing us all a favour.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dee’s face contorted, like Dennis’ words were a bad smell that had wafted her way.

She stood up from the couch, still glaring at Dennis, and stalked into the kitchen before putting the kettle on pointedly - Dennis recognised the signal and drew backwards, clenching his fists. Dee wanted to have a talk.

He stood up and joined her in the kitchen, sitting down on one of the old wooden chairs; he drummed his fingertips against the table until Dee slammed a mug down in front of him.

“Mac texted me you were coming.” She said.

“Ah-”

“-and, in my superior opinion, as your older sister, you’re being a dick.”

Dennis sighed, warming his hands on his mug; Dee sat down next to him, her face softening just a little bit. She was suspiciously sympathetic, like she had been when she’d looked after him when they were kids, comforting after Frank had hit him, or after Maureen had broken up with him for the umpteenth time.

“It’s complicated, Dee, I’m just trying to do what’s best for us, and…”

Dee silenced him with a withering look, “what’s best? Or what’s easiest? How is running away to my place any different to running away to North Dakota, Dennis?”

“I’m not  _ running,  _ I decided I needed time to regroup and thought it would be best for both Mac and I if I-”

“-ran?”

“Fuck you, Dee.”

Dee took a smug sip of tea before rolling her eyes and putting her mug down, reaching across the table to poke Dennis’ arm.

“Listen,” she said, lowering her voice a little, “Mac didn’t tell my why you were here. He didn’t tell me what’s been going on between you two, or what happened at the bar earlier.

But I’m not an idiot. I’ve been friends with Mac almost as long as you have and, as unfortunate as it is, you’re my twin brother. I know you. I know when you’re hiding something.”

Dennis protested, “I’m not  _ hiding  _ anything, Mac and I just-”

“I honestly couldn’t give two shits what you and Mac do in your spare time, Dennis,” Dee said, holding her hand up, “but you abandoning us when the bar is busy? Having to actually close up early because of your little spat? Mac  _ texting  _ me? It’s gone too far.”

There was a patch of mould above Dee’s fridge; Dennis fixed his eyes on it, zoning out as his sister ranted about the various ways he and Mac had inconvenienced her over the past few weeks. The events of the day cycled through his head like a sick carousel, strange and unreal - had it really only been this morning he’d gone to the animal shelter?

“Mac, uh-” he said, not sure of what he was going to say before he said it, “Mac wants me to make a choice.”

Dee snorted, “well that’s nothing new.”

“No, be serious, Dee! He wants me to make a choice about our, uh, relationship.” He barely managed to squeeze the last word from his throat.

“Oh.” Dee said, recoiling visibly, “I didn’t think things were that serious, I thought you two were just banging.”

_ “We’re not banging, it’s -  _ we’re not - it’s more complicated than that.”

“Mmhmm.” Dee seemed unconvinced. She leaned back in her chair and took a slow sip of tea, almost mockingly, “then explain it to me. We have time, considering you’ve packed to stay with me for, what, a month?”

Dennis turned to look at his backpack, which he’d discarded on the couch, “Mac made me pack that.” He lied, regretting his moment of fervour back at the apartment.

“Sure.”

“Besides, there’s nothing to explain, Dee! We’re friends; he wants more, as you and everyone else in the entire world knows, and I’m… undecided.”

“Hm,” Dee hummed, putting on the therapist voice Dennis hated so much, “if you ask me, undecided is a pretty interesting stance to take on your relationship with a man who massages your pecs.”

Dennis choked on his tea, “how do you-”

“-read the groupchat every once in a while, Dennis, Jesus.” Dee rolled her eyes, “anyway, what I’m trying to say is you’re being an idiot.”

“First I’m a dick, now I’m an idiot?”

Dee smiled sweetly, “yes.”

Dennis huffed and pushed his tea away. What had he expected to gain from coming to Dee with his problems, anyway? How was she supposed to understand any of this? He’d hoped, somehow, that she’d see right through him and tell him what to do, what decision to make, but he supposed he’d been wrong.

He stood up, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door, deliberately slow.

“You don’t want my advice?” Dee asked, sounding almost hurt.

“Not if you’re going to be insulting me all night, no.”

“Goddamn it, okay, listen,” Dee stood up, suddenly serious, “I’m not gonna pry or anything, you’re acting weird and I don’t want to be responsible for you finally snapping.

But, I think you should tell Mac yes. Yes to whatever he wants to hear - he’s annoying as shit, but he’s good for you, in some weird way.”

“It’s not that simple-”

“-maybe it  _ is  _ that simple, though, Dennis! Maybe you can make it that simple!” She waved her arms, stepping closer to him, “maybe the world isn’t some big cosmic force, holding its breath and waiting for you to have your moment; maybe it really is as easy as someone loving you and you letting them! Maybe that’s how things work for other people, and the two of us have some kind of parasite in our brains, making us overthink everything until we’ve missed our chance, when what we really need to do is rip the bandaid off and-” she stopped short, as though she’d talked herself to the edge of a cliff.

“Brain parasites,” Dennis said, a little shaken, “is that in the DSM-5?”

“Shut up, just shut up, Dennis. You’re fucking insufferable.” Dee pinched at her nose, closing her eyes a little.

They stood there in silence for a moment before Dennis coughed, making Dee open her eyes and scowled, “you can’t keep running away from it forever, Dennis.” She said, “I’m not saying you’ve gotta run towards it, but… I think you should try standing still for a while.”

“Helpful. And not at all cryptic.”

“Advice is advice,” Dee shrugged, “just, like, I don’t know. Have an honest conversation with him? Is that what you want me to tell you? Talk to him and tell him how you feel. It’s just Mac, Dennis.”

She was right. What point was there to all this? What point was there in him camping out here for the night, leaving Mac alone to stew in his thoughts, putting off the inevitable. Dennis had hoped Dee would say something that would make him make up his mind, help him feel ready, but he knew deep down that that wasn’t going to happen. He knew that, when it came down to it tomorrow, he would feel just as unprepared as he had when he’d left Mac earlier.

Maybe it  _ was  _ more complicated than giving Mac a yes/no answer, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe uncertainty was a part of life, and Dennis was missing out by avoiding it. Maybe he’d been too cautious.

“Thanks, Dee.” He said weakly, and she cracked a false smile.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.” She said, pushing past Dennis and opening the double doors to her room, “the blanket’s in its usual place. Don’t you dare wake me with your weird skin routine.”

And, with that, she went to her room, shutting Dennis out.

He was left in silence, his brain pulsing as he tried to think. He decided to sleep, letting the next day bring whatever it brought, dipping his fingers into uncertainty.

Pulling out his phone, he sent Mac a quick text,  _ “@ Dee’s. Gn, c u tomorrow.”  _

Within seconds, Mac had responded with an answer even shorter than the ones he’d been sending before; Dennis’ stomach dropped and his vision blurred a little, as though trying to keep him from reading it. After blinking for a second, though, he realised what he was looking at.

_ “<3” _

Dennis smiled to himself before wrapping himself up in a blanket and falling asleep on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading! <3 as always, i'm macdenniskiss on tumblr


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mac stared at Dennis, unashamedly; it was as though he was memorising him, collecting as much information as he could before it was too late._
> 
> _Dennis understood, he felt the same way. Really, it was like the end was drawing near - no matter what choice he made tonight, everything was going to change._
> 
> _He just needed one last good day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ! couple of disclaimers : idk how adopting dogs works esp in the us so don't take my word for uhh anything that goes on here, also i only realised as i was writing this that pippin sounds like poppins; i didn't name her after him i named her after a dog from a tv show i watched when i was little fkjdhsfkjsdhfksdjh
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter:
> 
> * internalised homophobia

“There, Dee, seize the goddamn gap!”

“I am _ trying, _Dennis, fuck off.”

It had been years since Dee and Dennis had driven to Paddy’s together; even when he’d been living with her it had been a rare event, one that often ended in tears. Dennis was proud of a lot of things, but his tendency to be a backseat driver was not one of them.

Dee honked at a slow car in front of them before overtaking it, flipping the driver off as she whizzed past.

“Stupid motherfuckers,” she muttered, earning herself one of Dennis' most venemous glares.

“They were going at the limit, Dee, Jesus Christ! you’re going to get us both _ killed.” _

Dennis felt vulnerable in Dee’s car - he’d been begging her for years to get something more substantial, something that wouldn’t be wrecked by a single crash, but she didn’t seem to see the issue. Either that, or she didn’t care.

She honked again, overtaking someone else in a move so risky that it set Dennis’ teeth on edge, “you’re one to talk,” she said, before taking a sip of coffee, unbothered.

Dee had been in a weirdly cheerful mood all morning. She hadn’t grumbled at Dennis when she’d awoken to find he’d made a mess of her kitchen, and she’d barely batted an eyelid at how he’d spent two hours in the bathroom, carefully removing the makeup he’d slept in and applying a fresh face.

On any other day, Dennis would have found this suspicious, but he was too wrapped up in his own problems to care. He’d texted Mac the second he’d woken up, asking what time he wanted to meet, and whether he’d slept well, and what he was planning on doing that day. He knew he sounded pathetic, but there was something in him, desperate, that needed to know.

So far, Mac hadn’t replied.

“What’s the hurry, anyway?” Dennis complained, gripping his seat as Dee ran another red light, “you can’t be that desperate for a beer this early in the morning.”

“_ I’m _not going to the bar, I’m dropping you off then going out with my friends. Frank wanted to talk to you.”

“What the hell - Frank? And since when do you have friends?”

Dee snorted, stopping the car with a jolt.

Dennis realised they were outside the bar already, having made record time; he glared at Dee, who smiled serenely back at him. There was a hint of malice in her smile, as well, as though she was planning something.

“He’s probably gonna lecture you about being a team player or something,” She paused, as though waiting for Dennis to get out of the car. When he didn’t she added, “and I have plenty of friends.”

“Oh, plenty, sure, uh-” Dennis was feeling mean, his phone still displaying zero messages, “let’s see, there’s your dad, your twin brother, your twin brother’s best friend, and your twin brother’s…”

“Unspecified life partner?” Dee finished, with mock seriousness.

If her goal had been to get Dennis out of the car, she’d succeeded. He scrambled from the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him, ignoring the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

As he walked away, she wound her window down and yelled out at him, “hey, Dennis!”

“What?” He snapped, spinning around to glare at her.

She smiled, showing all her teeth. “Good luck.”

  
  


Once inside the bar, Dennis let out a sigh he’d been holding in all morning; he hadn’t slept well on the couch and his back was aching, a pulsing pain that had been chasing him from the moment he’d woken up. 

He checked his phone again. Still nothing.

Frank was nowhere to be seen, was he late? Dennis shook his head, smiling to himself a little. Trust Frank, idiot that he was, to not even be able to arrive at the bar on time to discipline him.

He grabbed a beer and sat down on a stool, holding his phone and staring dully at the screen, as though he’d be able to make a text appear from sheer willpower alone.

A loud noise sounded from the bathroom, making him almost jump out of his skin - he realised, for the first time, that he wasn’t alone after all. Instantly, he shifted his posture, sitting upright and tense; he wasn’t going to let himself be caught off-guard. Not today.

He tilted his chin upwards a little and angled himself towards the bathroom door, waiting for Frank or Charlie or some other unknown assailant to greet him.

The door opened slowly and it was -

It was Mac.

He stood there, gaping at Dennis as he dried his hands on his t-shirt. It wasn’t right, the way Dennis felt in that moment; seeing Mac after being separated for less than a day shouldn’t have been enough to make him want to cry.

Dennis leapt to his feet, knocking over his bottle with his elbow and not even caring when it toppled over, pooling sticky beer onto the bar. His heart had picked up its pace, either from fear or adrenaline or that other emotion that Dennis wouldn’t let himself name under the bright lights of Paddy’s

“Uh-” Mac looked almost as though he wanted to walk back into the bathroom and lock the door, “I didn’t think you were gonna be here.”

“Dee dropped me off,” Dennis explained hurriedly, “she said Frank-”

“-wanted to meet me in the bar.” Mac finished, his eyes narrowing a little.

Had they been set up? Dennis suspected they had.

Behind him, Dennis heard a gentle, but insistent, dripping. He turned around, suddenly aware of the mess he’d made; he wavered, just for a moment, just long enough for Mac to reach him.

“I’ve got it,” Mac mumbled, leaning right over the bar to reach for a towel.

He overstretched himself, almost losing his balance as he flailed, his hand searching for something solid to grip onto - Dennis grabbed him, carefully pulling him back so he was standing on both feet again. Mac studied his face, tired, and gave up the towel easily when Dennis tugged it from between his fingers.

“You don’t have to clean up after me.” He said, turning his attention to the puddle of beer.

Mac sighed, “no, I don’t.”

He sat down on a stool, watching Dennis with a strange, faraway look in his eye, as though he was thinking hard about something. Dennis didn’t dare ask him what was on his mind.

Instead, he cleared his throat, “Dee was being _ so _annoying last night, man. I messed up my back on her couch again - remember that old thing? I swear to God, she’s paying for me to see a chiropractor.” He was trying to rant, to get angry and yell in that way that always made Mac smile a little, but there was no real fire to it. Really, he was just talking to fill the space between them.

As soon as he got the words out, however, he realised that they only made the space feel vaster.

Mac stayed silent for a moment, nodding absently before bouncing his leg and drumming a nervous rhythm onto the bar with his fingertips. It put Dennis even more on edge, the incessant taps and movements catching at the corners of his eyes and making him twitch.

Eventually, unable to take any more, he burst out, “can you say something?”

“Huh?”

“Just,” he put the cloth down and sat on his own stool, shuffling round so that his and Mac’s knees were almost touching, “talk.”

“About what?” Mac scrunched his face up, as though he thought Dennis was tricking him.

“Anything, uh, what did you do last night? After I left, I mean.”

Mac folded his hands into his lap and looked down at them, “nothing,” he said, a little sadly.

Dennis knew Mac wasn’t lying. He knew the nothingness that Mac was talking about; it was the kind of nothingness where you wandered aimlessly around the apartment for hours, like an animal in a cage. Maybe he’d stared out the window at people passing by, or maybe he’d sat down and turned on the TV. But not even that could permeate the complete silence that seemed to leak in through the floorboards and the holes in the plasterboard.

Again, Dennis worried about how many collective hours Mac had spent lost in that nothingness while he was away.

“Sorry.” He said, almost automatically.

Mac sighed, “it’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

They sat in silence for a long time. Mac stared at Dennis, unashamedly; it was as though he was memorising him, collecting as much information as he could before it was too late.

Dennis understood, he felt the same way. Really, it was like the end was drawing near - no matter what choice he made tonight, everything was going to change.

He just needed one last good day.

“Wanna get lunch?” He asked, hopping off his stool and turning away from Mac.

“What?”

“Lunch? I’m hungry,” that was a lie, “I thought we could go somewhere nice. For old time’s sake.”

The sound of Mac’s feet hitting the floor sent a shiver down Dennis’ spine and he closed his eyes as he felt him coming up behind him - he didn’t touch him, he just stood there, close.

“I thought you needed time to think?” He said, the accusations cutting through his soft tone.

“I do, Mac, but it’s hard when I’m so… so…” Dennis waved his hands around his head, waiting for Mac to fill the end of the sentence for him. He didn’t.

Instead, he took one of Dennis’ tightly-fisted hands and opened it for him, rubbing his palm soothingly. Dennis relaxed a little and inhaled deeply.

“Where do you wanna eat?” Mac asked.

Dennis shook his head, a weak, misplaced laugh escaping him, “I don’t know, man.”

“We could get hoagies from the Wawa? Eat them down by the river?”

Dennis pulled away from Mac, remembering the customer from the other night at the bar; he didn’t think he could bear to run into him. In fact, he didn’t want to see anyone - the idea of leaving the bar was suddenly exhausting, utterly draining. It was as though walking down the street, being seen, being looked at, would drain what little energy he had left.

“I wanna go home.” He said, in a tone of voice that, on any other day, would have had Mac picking him up and carrying him out of the bar.

Right then, Mac just said “okay,” and stood still, waiting for Dennis to make the first move. After a moment, he added, “I drove here, man. The car’s outside.”

That sent a little spike of panic through Dennis, he absolutely didn’t trust Mac to drive safely; still, if it meant they didn’t have to walk home, he wasn’t going to complain.

They left the bar together, shoulder to shoulder.

  
  


Once inside the Range Rover, Dennis felt a little better; as much as Paddy’s felt like a second home to him, there was something uniquely comforting about the small, impenetrable space of your own car. he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gripping the steering wheel to steady himself.

Then, he remembered Pippin. He realised that, in the chaos, he’d forgotten all about her - it had been over twenty-four hours since he’d left her, promising to return soon. A sick, familiar kind of guilt began to fill him.

“Can we stop somewhere first?” He asked, turning to Mac.

“Sure, whatever you want, man.” Mac seemed a little annoyed, but more worried than anything else. He bounced his leg again, turning his head to stare out of the window with a nervous frown.

Dennis stepped on the gas and bit his lip, unsure of how to spring the news on Mac. Would it be better to tell him on the way? Once they were inside the shelter? How about if he left him in the car, only to emerge with Pippin in his arms? He had no idea what he was doing, as usual.

“Hey, uh,” his throat wasn’t working properly, “you’re gonna hate me for asking you this now, man, but just stick with me, okay?”

Mac turned his head to give him a quick glance, “go on.”

“Would you mind-”

“-just give me a day to pack-”

“-if we got a dog? _ Oh.” _ Dennis almost crashed the car as he processed what Mac had said.

“Oh.” Mac echoed softly, looking at Dennis with wide eyes, “sorry. I thought…”

Dennis chewed on his lip until he tasted the sharp pang of blood on his tongue, reminding him of what he was supposed to be doing. He stared blankly at the road ahead. This area of Philly was still a little foreign to him and, despite everything else, he was determined not to get lost.

“You wanted to get a dog with me?” Mac managed to say after a while, his voice hushed.

“_ Want _, not wanted. I still - I still wanna do it.”

“So, does that mean you’ve made up your mind?”

Dennis ignored the question, a little confused. What did wanting to adopt a dog have to do with him making up his mind, or with whether or not he wanted to be in a relationship with Mac? Two platonic friends could absolutely raise a dog together.

He sighed, frustrated, “I found a dog in a shelter that needed a good home, something we happen to have. Can we move past it?”

“Okay.” Mac said, small.

Another moment passed before Dennis got the nerve to ask the question that had been making his hands shake, “you thought I wanted you to move out?”

“I - yeah,” Mac stuttered, “I thought you’d made a choice and didn’t want me around, man. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

That stung a little.

“I have until this evening, Mac,” Dennis reminded him, tersely, “besides, no matter what I decide, I don’t want anything to... change."

The conversation was making a little pit of panic pool in his stomach, sour and sticky like beer. The deadline for the ultimatum was speeding towards him and, yet, there he was, sat with Mac, still unsure of what a relationship with him would even mean.

Maybe adopting a dog with someone wasn’t a universally platonic gesture. Maybe building someone so deeply into your home that it wasn’t home without them waded into the depths of romance. Maybe-

Mac made a quiet, choked noise that could have meant anything. Dennis didn’t dare look at his face; instead, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road, shaking himself when he recognised the street they were driving down.

“Well,” he said, pulling up outside the shelter and turning the engine off, “this is it.”

Mac stared at him blankly, “what is this, man?”

“The- the shelter, I just said-”

“-you promise this isn’t a trick? Or a - a part of one of your systems, or…” Mac trailed off, looking nervously at the shelter.

It made Dennis’ heart heavy to hear the worry in Mac’s voice, but he knew it was well-earned, “I promise, man. I promise there’s a dog in there waiting for us - her name’s Pippin and she’s small and calm and I think you’ll really like her, ‘cos she kinda looks like Poppins, except-”

And then Mac hugged him.

Honestly, by the way he’d leaned in, and by the expression on his face, Dennis had half expected him to kiss him then and there. He wasn’t sure if he’d have minded if he had. It might’ve made things simpler.

“Thank you, Den.” Mac muttered in his ear.

“Hey, don’t thank me yet, you haven’t even met her.” Dennis replied, shifting in Mac’s tight grip.

Still, when Mac pulled back he met his gaze, offering up a weak smile, he felt his mind reel. He fumbled behind him for the doorhandle, anything to escape the intense feeling in his chest, but he couldn’t find it.

Mac was the first one to break eye contact. He turned and got out of the car before jogging over to Dennis’ side and opening the door for him, still smiling.

“Thanks,” Dennis mumbled, his face heating as Mac helped him out. It probably wasn’t necessary for him to grip his hand for balance, but he did it anyway.

\--

Julia, the shopkeeper from the day before, recognised Dennis instantly. Her face lit up when she set eyes on him and she smiled, greeting him with genuine excitement.

“Is this your roommate?” She asked, not implying anything, but not leaving the implication unknown either.

Dennis smiled and nodded in that way he’d become so used to over the years; he felt Mac grip at his arm when he saw the rows of dogs, and Dennis’ heart sank. In his excitement over his specific dog, Dennis had forgotten Mac’s ability to bond with the grossest, most slobbery ones.

“Oh, Dennis, there are _ so _many!” He cried, rushing to the cages and sticking his fingers through. Years of childhood experience made Dennis wince as he waited for Mac to pull back, bleeding, but he just continued to beam into the cages, occasionally uttering a "good boy!"

Dennis met Julia’s amused gaze for a moment and rolled his eyes, affectionately - she seemed to understand, and returned the look, obviously used to dealing with overenthusiastic customers.

After waiting for Mac to calm down a little, she cleared her throat and pushed him aside so she could get to Pippin’s cage. Mac, in all his excitement, hadn’t even noticed her sat there quietly; he watched as she trotted out and sat at Dennis’ feet.

Dennis bent down and patted her head, smiling as she thumped her tail against the floor, “hey there,” he said, gently.

Mac was silent for a moment and Dennis' stomach began to twist - had he misjudged this? He knew Mac liked dogs, but he’d been far more enthusiastic about the loud, normal ones. What if he didn’t make the same connection with Pippin that Dennis had? What if he thought she was weird or boring or wrong?

Just as he was about to say something, Mac rushed to his side, “she’s so _ cute,” _he gasped, crouching down and cooing at her.

Dennis stepped back, leaning against the desk as he watched Mac fuss over Pippin. This was the point where everything was supposed to go wrong, where he was supposed to get jealous or overwhelmed by the blood rushing in his ears. This was where he was supposed to run away. Instead, he sighed and unfocused his eyes, letting a warmth unfurl in his chest.

Seeing Mac play with Pippin, far more gently than he’d ever played with Poppins, made Dennis feel like he was falling. Not in a general direction, just… falling. Like his stomach was struggling to keep up with the rest of his body.

Mac must’ve noticed Dennis had gone quiet, because he looked up, raising his eyebrows at him, “can we keep her?” He pleaded, as though this whole thing hadn’t been Dennis’ idea in the first place.

Dennis shrugged, looking at Julia, “we need to get a few things, I think - uh… food?” 

“Do you need another copy of the shopping list?” Julia asked.

“Please.”

Julia wrote him out another list, a little messier this time, and handed it to him alongside some more pamphlets, “we could sign the forms now,” she said hopefully, “just in case.”

“Sure, uh-” Dennis looked over his shoulder at Mac, who was still playing with Pippin, “I’ll handle all the legal stuff.”

She handed him a form and he filled it out carefully, pausing on some of the questions - did he really need to give out his relationship status? Still, he made short work of it, and handed it back to Julia with a smile and a flourish.

“Reynolds?” She asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

“No, I just-” she shook her head, “do you know Dee Reynolds, by any chance?”

Mac’s head had snapped up from the other side of the room, and he shook his head lightly at Dennis, as though warning him of something.

“No,” he lied, “it’s a common name.”

There were no more questions asked.

\--

Two hours later and they were in a pet store - they’d left Pippin for what was hopefully the last time, arranging to pick her up on Thursday. It had taken a lot of effort to pull Mac away from her, and he’d spent the entire drive to the pet store complaining about how lonely she must be.

“C’mon, Mac,” Dennis said, after Mac gave him a particularly sad look, “don’t you want her to be comfortable when we take her home? It’ll be easier if we have everything set up and ready.”

Mac huffed out a quiet, “I guess,” before grabbing a green collar off a shelf and showing it to Dennis, “can we get this?”

“Why?”

“It’s Paddy’s green, Dennis! It’ll make her part of the family!”

Dennis paused. He knew Mac didn’t mean it like _ that, _but something about the careful way his mouth shaped the word family made his brain stop working for a second. He swallowed and shrugged, pulling the collar from Mac’s hands and throwing it in the shopping cart.

So far, they’d picked out a few bags of the food Julia had recommended, as well as some treats, a couple of toys, and a leash. They’d been bickering about the bed the entire trip, with Mac arguing that they didn’t _ need _to buy one, since Pippin could sleep at their feet. Dennis wasn’t convinced.

“I think we should get her a bed, _ just in case, _” Dennis said, pointing out a pile of baskets, “she’s shy, she might need a little place of her own for a while.” He had no intention of sharing his bed with an animal, no matter how cute, but that was an argument for another day.

Mac kicked one of the beds, “this one’s okay, I guess.” He said.

“Yeah? I like the pattern.”

Dennis bent down to examine the bed before picking it up and throwing it in the cart, but by the time he’d straightened back up, he realised Mac had wandered off. He span around, searching for him.

“Mac?” He called out, tentatively.  
“Over here!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dennis followed the sound of Mac’s voice to find him crouched by the side of a small cage, entranced by whatever was inside it. Dennis watched him for a moment, gripping the handle of their trolley, before clearing his throat, causing Mac to turn and grin at him.

“Look,” he said, reaching out to grab Dennis’ hand and pull him down beside him, “they’re so cute!”

Dennis wrinkled his nose when he realised what Mac was showing him. Rats. After years of working at Paddy’s, he’d grown to dislike them, with their creepy long tails and weird little droppings they liked to leave everywhere. Still, crouching there beside Mac, who was still tightly gripping at his hand, he could appreciate that they _ were _kinda cute.

“Maybe we should get one for Charlie,” Mac said mischievously, “just to see what happens.”

“No, that’s an awful idea, Mac!” Dennis protested, but he couldn’t help laughing. He leaned against Mac, watching for a moment longer as the rats stared out at him with their wide, iridescent eyes.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Dennis, Mac pulled out his phone and checked it. Dennis saw the time from over his shoulder. 15:00. He felt a little sick, suddenly, knowing that the afternoon was coming to a close.

Mac must’ve seen his face pale, because he put his phone back in his pocket and stood up, helping Dennis to his feet before putting a steadying hand on his back.

“Alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Dennis mumbled, not pulling away, “let’s get on with this, though, we have a shit load left to get.”

Mac rolled his eyes and took out the list, “dude, we have like three things left, we can take our time! Do you wanna see the fish?”

It occurred to Dennis that he wasn’t the only one anxious about what was to come later. He nodded, and let Mac pull him in the direction of some very sad looking fish.

  
  


When, another hour later, they finally made it to the car, Dennis realised they’d bought far more than was necessary. Mac had an armful of chew toys, insisting that it wasn’t fair to only buy one, and Dennis had gone a little overboard buying brightly-coloured collars. 

Mac loaded their last bag into the trunk of the Range Rover, huffing out a long, cloudy breath. The sun was just beginning to set, hanging low over the city skyline, and the dread that had been lingering in the back of Dennis’ mind all day began to creep forward, gripping at the edges of him.

It wasn’t a long drive home, maybe half an hour, and Dennis knew when they got back, the _ thing _would be there, waiting to face him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Mac asked, frowning in concern as he closed the trunk.

Dennis sighed loudly, “for the millionth time, Mac, I’m _ fine. _Jesus. You worry too much.”

“Okay.” He sounded unconvinced.

Dennis turned away without another word and got into the car, slamming the door with maybe a little more force than was necessary. He expected Mac to follow him right away but he didn’t; instead, he opened the trunk again and rummaged around inside it, not answering Dennis when he called to ask what the hell he was doing.

After a minute of rummaging, Mac closed the trunk and strolled back around to the passenger side with his hands jammed firmly into his pockets. A cold gust of air followed him as he opened the door and climbed inside, making Dennis frown and shiver a little as the chill set itself deep inside his lungs.

“What was that all about?” He asked.

Wordlessly, Mac reached into his pocket and produced a granola bar; he pressed it into Dennis’ hand with one of his trademark worried looks, “you haven’t eaten today.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it was second nature to him - Dennis didn’t even know where he’d gotten the bar from, did he keep a stash in the trunk of the car? Upon further inspection, Dennis realised it was his favourite brand, the expensive healthy stuff that Mac always turned his nose up at for not being sweet enough.

Ever since he’d accepted his feelings for Dennis, Mac had been endlessly trying to please him. Dennis always knew when he was doing it, he’d get this wide, hopeful look in his eyes, and he’d stand there, all tense and nervous. The gestures he made ranged from minor to huge, to doing the dishes after an argument to spending thousands of dollars on Valentine’s Day gifts.

This was not one of those moments.

He seemed completely unaware of what he’d just done, staring out the window with a serene little smile on his face, no doubt thinking about the day’s events. Maybe the gesture hadn’t even registered in his mind, maybe he’d done it out of habit, out of some comfortable instinct to care for Dennis.

It hit Dennis, like a train, that Mac wasn’t lying when he told him he loved him.

“Thanks.” He managed to choke out, unwrapping the granola bar with shaking hands and taking a bite.

“No problem,” Mac said absently, as though he’d forgotten what Dennis was even thanking him for.

Dennis sat there for a few moments, just long enough to stop shaking, before turning on the engine and beginning their drive home. He wasn’t nervous anymore, he knew what choice he was going to make.

\--

Once home, Mac busied himself with setting up Pippin’s stuff; he moved her bed to three different places in the living room, deciding each one was either too cold or too hot.

Eventually, he settled for putting it down by the side of the couch, so she could sit with them when they were watching TV.

Dennis kept reminding him that they weren’t actually bringing her home for another few days, but Mac was full of nervous energy; he reminded Dennis of a toy that had been wound up, clattering around clumsily, unable to stop moving.

Eventually, Dennis got a stress headache and managed to coax Mac into turning off the lights and sitting on the couch with him in in semi-darkness, illuminated only by the setting sun straining through the grimy window.

“Today was good.” Mac said after a little while.

Dennis was sat cross-legged with his back to him, letting him massage his shoulders gently; he supposed now was a moment as good as any other.

“Mac,” he said, his mouth dry, “I, uh-”

“It’s okay if you need more time to think.” Mac soothed, sounding almost hopeful.

“How did you know you were gay?”

Mac’s hands stilled on Dennis’ shoulders for a moment, before he continued to rub them, “it’s complicated.” He said, quickly.

“I wanna know.”

“Okay, so, uh-” Dennis felt one of Mac’s hands leave his shoulder and, without even looking at him, Dennis could tell he was raking it through his hair, “I always knew, in a way. Like, when I was super young I didn’t have a name for it, but by the time I was in high school I knew… I knew I was into dudes. No matter how much I pushed against it, I always knew.”

High school. Mac had known for twenty years before he came out. Dennis’ heart hurt.

“But,” he pressed, “how did you know for sure?”

Mac sighed, “I guess the first time I kissed a guy sober?"

“And when was that?” It was pathetic how plainly the jealousy carried in his voice, bitter like limes.

“2003.” Mac didn’t even hesitate, “he was, uh, he was blackout drunk at the bar and I was trying to sober him up with some water, but he took my face in his hands and…”

“Oh.”

“It was nothing like kissing a chick, bro. It only lasted a second but I felt, like, I felt…” If there were words for what Mac had felt, neither he nor Dennis knew what they were.

Free? Real? Awake? Dennis could only dream.

They sat in silence for a long while. Dennis kept his head bowed, gaze fixed solidly on his knees, while Mac rubbed at his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension in them. A couple of months ago touch as intimate and deliberate as this would have sent them both into a panic; it was amazing how quickly you could get used to something.

“I never kissed a guy sober.” Dennis admitted, his throat almost closing in on the words.

It was Mac’s turn to utter a surprised, “oh,” then a louder, slightly more emphatic, _ “ohh.” _

“Don’t.”

“You know, Dennis, we should probably talk about it anyway, if-”

“-I said don’t!”

Mac fell silent for a long second, “did you talk to Dee about this?”

“Mac…”

“And Charlie was very good when I-”

Dennis finally worked up the nerve to shrug Mac’s hands from his shoulders and turn around to face him. He looked distressed, in that awful way he always did when faced with something bigger than himself.

“I don’t wanna talk to Dee, or Charlie,” Dennis said, firmly, “I wanna talk to you.”

“Okay, man.”

Dennis reached out, pressing a shaking hand against Mac’s face. It was harder than he remembered, harder than it had been in a long while, like pushing two magnets together. How was it possible that he’d used to be able to do this all the time, how had he once cradled his face in his hands and called him baby, as though it was the easiest thing in the world? Surely, they’d been different people back then.

Static electricity made the hairs on the back of Dennis’ neck stand on end as Mac leaned in, bringing his face stomach-churningly close. Dennis closed his eyes.

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac’s breath was hot on his face, hot enough to make Dennis flinch, “c’mon, man.”

And, then, Dennis felt Mac’s cool forehead press against his own; Mac’s steady hand on his back, pooling oxygen back into his lungs; Mac’s knee pressed against his, solid and reassuring. Dennis opened his eyes, met once again with the worry written clearly across Mac’s face.

He cleared his throat and pulled away, leaning into the hand on his back, “It's like you said, man, we can't put this off forever. I need to know someday."

“Dennis.” There was a tragic sincerity in Mac’s voice that could only have come from past experience, “you already know.”

Dennis sprang to his feet, pacing back and forth in an attempt to get rid of some of the nervous energy coursing through him, “no, Mac, I don’t already know. How can I know for sure what my preferences are, or, what my preferences aren’t, if there hasn’t been an even playing field?”

“But-”

“Sure, I’ve kissed some dudes when I was wasted, who hasn’t? But I’ve kissed women, too! And I’ve slept with so many women, so many, I have the tapes, they’re proof! And - and I-”

“Dennis.”

“I’ve been slowing down a little lately but that’s just because I’m a more mature man now, I can’t be having one night stands left and right, that’d be irresponsible, Mac! It has nothing to do with anything!”

Mac reached out and caught Dennis’ hand as he paced past him, tethering him back to the couch; he looked up at him, his gentle frown a little deeper now, “Dennis, it’s just me, man. Just me and you. You don’t have to do this.”

A heavy silence fell across the room, as though the apartment was holding its breath.

Dennis looked down at the floor, hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion and vertigo and God knows what else, “I’m tired.” He said. 

“I know Den,” Mac whispered, softly, almost reverently, “I get it.”

Dennis sighed as Mac held his hand, looking up at him with wide eyes. He wanted to just tell him - to just open his mouth and say the little words that would make this all easier. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I was tired too,” Mac said, absently, “you must be even tireder, man, since I came out, like, three years ago. I wouldn’t have - I don’t think I could’ve lasted three more years like that.”

“Wait, I didn’t say I knew for sure-” Dennis pulled his hand from Mac’s grasp and sat down heavily on the couch, allowing himself one more moment of comfortable denial before it all came crashing down on him, “don’t act like I know. I still have time to make my choice.”

“Sorry.”

“But… how long have you known- or, uh, suspected, that I might be…”

“Dennis, that’s not-”

“Tell me.”

Mac took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, “2003.”

“Oh.”

Two seconds of silence was all it took for Dennis to fall into the deep depths of panic. He and Mac had kissed before, sure, but always under the assumption that they were both wasted, that neither of them were in their right minds. This unbalanced things, shifting the floorboards of the apartment until Dennis closed his eyes and shook his head, gripping onto the couch cushions for support.

Mac had lived with that secret for over fifteen years. 

Mistaking his fear for anger, Mac pulled away, “it wasn’t anything big, man, like, you _ barely _kissed me! It was probably an accident, you were stumbling around a ton, maybe you tripped and-”

“Stop.” He’d meant for the words to come out commanding, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

Dennis took a couple of steadying breaths, counting slowly in and out, before turning to Mac once again; he was looking away, as though averting his eyes to give Dennis some semblance of privacy. He might’ve found it sweet, had he been in the state of mind to consider it.

“Would you do it again?”

“What?”

“Kiss me sober. It’ll answer my questions, right?”

“Dennis…” Mac’s voice was low and warning, like he’d already thought the situation through for a long time. Dennis’ stomach twisted at the idea of Mac kissing strangers in bars, in the corners of The Rainbow or round the back of Paddy’s, in some attempt to understand himself.

“I need you to do it, Mac,” he said, trying to keep the tremble from his voice, “please.”

Mac’s shoulders tensed a little and he turned around, eyes impossibly wide. Dennis knew how he sounded: needy, hopeless, like he was stood on the edge of a cliff, threatening to jump, but he couldn’t help it. The idea had planted itself in his mind, like a seed that needed watering.

“Dennis...” Mac put a tentative hand on Dennis’ neck and traced his jawline with his thumb; his voice was softer now.

“Please,” Dennis said again, “before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” He was too close again, hypnotically so, his thumb tracing a gentle, steady pattern on Dennis’ skin, breath ticking Dennis’ face, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’re getting old, Mac.” Dennis closed his eyes, “do you ever think about that?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re always bitching about it.”

“It doesn’t… bother you at all?”

“No, not really.”

Mac continued to stroke Dennis’ face, looking at him carefully, as though the slightest thing could cause him to shatter and break. Dennis leaned into the touch.

When had this started? Dennis tried to untangle the web of touches and massages and merciful acts that had made their home within him recently.

It must have been after Pride, when Mac had met him at the apartment, damp and teary-eyed. Something had shifted that night. Dennis had taken care of him, asked the right amount of questions, gotten him a towel and a dry set of clothes. That had been when they’d begun to grow together, like broken bones setting back into place.

After that, Mac had started with the pushing. Never mean, never overt enough to make Dennis uncomfortable, but always enough for him to notice. The leading questions, the declarations of love, the self-help pamphlets on the kitchen table; Dennis had been so absorbed in the theories of manipulation and malice that he hadn’t stopped to consider the scariest situation - the one where Mac cared about him.

It made Dennis resent him a little, in a guilty kind of way. He hadn’t done this for Mac when he was struggling; he hadn’t sat him down and rubbed his shoulders and told him it was gonna be okay.

If he could go back and change things, he would. He’d do it all right - he’d leave notes on the fridge to let Mac know someone was looking out for him, he’d get him help, he’d tell him he loved him before things got too complicated for that to be a neutral statement.

He let out a huff of breath and opened his eyes to see Mac still staring at him; he couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but it felt like the two of them had been sat there for years.

Mac’s thumb stilled against Dennis’ face, “you okay, man?”

Dennis wanted to say something, but his tongue felt heavy and thick in his mouth - his head was spinning, like it would when he’d take too many shots or not eat for a couple days.

Somehow, Mac understood, as he always did.

“You still want that kiss?” He shifted his hand, swiping a stray hair from Dennis’ forehead.

The question didn’t even register in Dennis’ brain, it was as though it had been censored, turning to static as he tried to process it.

“Were you scared?” He asked, unable to keep the question from bursting forth, “like, before you came out? Did you worry about what we’d think?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Mac withdrew his hand and turned his head away; he was silent for a moment, as though trying to put his thoughts into words. He’d always struggled with that.

“Yeah.” He said, “a little.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said hurriedly, “it wasn’t your fault, man, you had your own shit to deal with - it’s not like I thought you were gonna kick me out. I just didn’t wanna be treated different.”

Dennis sighed, “and that’s exactly what I did.”

There was no reply from Mac; he was too kind to disagree. Instead, he took Dennis’ hand again and squeezed it.

“I didn’t think you’d run away.” He said, eventually.

“That wasn’t because of you.”

Mac’s grip tightened for a moment before relaxing, “it wasn’t?”

“It was all me, man. All me.”

A short silence followed, before Mac said, “and you promise you won’t go again?” His voice was so quiet, so unsure, that Dennis almost wept.

He’d changed his mind. If he could go back and do things differently, he’d make sure he never met Mac at all - he’d find someone else to buy weed from, he’d hide from him in the high school corridors. Anything to avoid the pain he’d go through having met Dennis.

“I promise," was all Dennis could get out, and he meant it. They were in too deep, anyway.

There was nothing Mac could say to that - he looked for a second as though he wanted to push further, but stayed silent. He rested his head on Dennis’ shoulder, relaxing against him.

They sat like that for a long time, so long that the last remaining strains of sunlight retreated from the window, leaving them sat in total darkness. Mac’s breathing evened out, so steady and deep that Dennis was almost convinced he’d fallen asleep on him.

He gently shrugged him off, laying him down on the couch and looking around for the electric blanket, not wanting Mac to catch a cold from sleeping uncovered again.

A hand shot out and clutched at his wrist, “stay,” Mac pleaded.

“I was just gonna get a blanket, Mac, I thought you were sleeping.”

The grip on Dennis’ wrist loosened, but Mac’s fingers still trailed at the hem of his sleeve, as though he didn’t quite believe him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily.

  
  


Dennis shuffled closer to him, not touching, just looking at him. Mac looked back, confused, until he coughed, dropping Dennis’ gaze.

“Have you, uh, decided yet?”

“Mac…”

Mac reached out to brush a stray eyelash off Dennis’ cheek, blowing it from his finger. Dennis wondered what he’d wished for.

“You can have another day, dude, if you really need to think about it - but… sometimes thinking doesn’t help. Sometimes, you just need to act. You just need to rip the bandaid off, man.”

That was what Dee had said, almost exactly. Dennis wasn’t sure if he agreed but, sometimes you need to take advice from people who love you.

So, Dennis acted.

He tilted his head, catching Mac’s eye before leaning in to kiss him; he hadn't quite made it the entire way when Mac closed the distance, sighing into him, tender like a bruise.

His entire life, he’d felt like he was squeezing at something; tightening his muscles as his fists clasped around an invisible thread. He ached from it, from the tension and the constant awareness of what he was doing - sometimes, he looked around and wondered how many other people’s hands were being rubbed raw by the same threads, how many other people were sore and cramping and silent about it.

He’d tried to explain the pains, but he didn’t have the words. Mac had tried to massage them away, buying creams and ointments to rub into his aching joints; it had helped, not the actual massages of course, but the gesture of kindness. It had helped. Dennis had learned to relax a little, remembering to unclench his jaw when Mac tapped at it.

He knew what he had to do now, though. In that moment, in that kiss, he relaxed. And he let go.

Mac pulled away too soon, his neck burning pink, “was that okay?” He asked, his hands soft on Dennis’ cheeks. Dennis’ wet cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah that was… good.”

“Yeah?” Mac was beaming, smiling at Dennis like he’d proposed.

“Yeah, man.”

That was the only answer Dennis needed to give.

He let Mac kiss him again; he was more deliberate with it this time, more sure of himself. He ran a hand through Dennis’ hair and pulled him in closer, opening his mouth to take him deeper into the kiss. Not knowing quite what to do with his hands, Dennis rested them on Mac’s shoulders, glad for something solid to grip onto.

Dennis wasn’t sure if this was allowed, if people were allowed to feel this strongly. He was sure that he hadn’t been built for this - his heart was pounding so hard it hurt, so hard he was afraid Mac would pull away and have to call for an ambulance.

In the end, it was Dennis who broke the kiss, needing a moment to catch his breath.

“I, uh-” He couldn’t even look at Mac, afraid his chest would burst open, “I think we should go to bed.”

“Huh?” Mac’s eyebrows shot up, “you’re sure you want…”

Dennis’ cheeks flushed as he realised the misunderstanding; he wanted Mac, of course he did, but the idea of sleeping with him was terrifying. The act didn’t scare him, he’d had enough drunken one-night stands with men to know what he was doing, but the idea of Mac seeing what was beneath his exterior, peeling away his layers and seeing him, vulnerable, made his mind go blank. That was something he’d need to build up to.

“No,” he stuttered, “No - I mean, not yet. I’m just really tired, man.”

He only realised how genuinely tired he was once the words were out of his mouth; for the first time, he was aware of his bones shifting beneath his skin, heavy like lead. It had been a long few days.

Mac understood, as usual; he pulled Dennis off the couch and lead him through to the bathroom, flicking the lightswitch and pooling them in a weak, flickering light that made Dennis’ eyes hurt a little.

All was silent aside from the sound of their breathing, and the gentle dripping of the tap neither of them had been able to fix. Mac sat Dennis down on the edge of the bath and picked up his packet of makeup wipes.

“Can I..?” He asked, motioning towards Dennis.

Usually, the idea would have made Dennis’ skin crawl, but he was too tired to protest, so he nodded. Mac smiled and began to clean his face, mimicking the careful circular motions he’d been watching Dennis make every evening for the past few months.

“Close your eyes,” Mac instructed quietly, and Dennis obeyed, tensing a little as Mac wiped his mascara off.

He pressed a little too hard and Dennis flinched, “careful!”

“Sorry, man,” Mac said, putting a steadying hand on his cheek and going back more gently, “I like this stuff, you know.”

“What stuff?”

“The goopy stuff you put in your lashes. It’s nice.”

Dennis smiled, “mascara?”

“That’s it!”

“You can wear some if you want, man. It’d look good on you.”

Mac wordlessly withdrew his hand and Dennis opened his eyes to look at him; he was blushing, fumbling as he tried to open the moisturiser. Dennis took it from him and twisted it open seamlessly, before putting it back in his hands.

Mac dipped his fingers into the pot and worked it into Dennis’ face, sending a shiver down Dennis’ spine at the touch of the cold cream against his skin.

“Remember to rub it in properly.” Dennis said, closing his eyes.

Mac huffed, “I know what I’m doing, man, I watch you every single night,” he replied. Still, he massaged Dennis’ forehead for a little while longer before sitting back on his heels. “There.”

“All done?”

“All done.”

Dennis opened his eyes and caught the way Mac was looking at him; it made him feel unsteady, being stared at like that without the protective layer of makeup to keep him safe. Mac had seen him like this a thousand times before, but everything suddenly felt strange and new.

Taking his hand, Mac leaned forward and pressed his lips to his cheek, so lightly that Dennis barely felt it. Still, he made a face when he pulled away, “tastes bad.” He said.

Dennis rolled his eyes, “of course it tastes bad, Mac, the chemicals haven’t absorbed yet. Here,” he swiped his thumb across Mac’s lower lip, “don’t swallow any.”

“Thanks.” Mac said, his voice trembling a little.

Once in bed, Mac was out like a light, flat on his back and snoring the second his head hit the pillow; Dennis suspected he hadn’t been sleeping well either.

He curled up against him, resting a gentle hand on his chest, “night.” He said, before closing his eyes.

A little uncertainty still brewed in his stomach - some part of him had hoped that making a decision would end everything. All it had done was open up new doors, add new layers of complication. 

But he still slept soundly in the knowledge that he was going to wake up in Mac’s arms the next morning, and that Mac loved him enough to keep a secret stash of granola bars in the Range Rover, and that kissing the right person was enough to alleviate some of the pressure that had been building inside his head for as long as he could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading, hope u enjoyed this !! <3 i'm not going to be posting next week bc of the holidays, but i'll be back on january 3rd
> 
> as always, i'm macdenniskiss on tumblr!


	7. seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac knew Dennis inside and out. From the way he was sat, leaning forwards, it was obvious he understood the way his heart was pounding.  
Sometimes things got to Dennis. It wasn’t deep or intricate, or really all that nuanced. Sometimes things got to him and he got scared. Frank raising his voice, tequila, tortoise shell glasses, that one song the radio loved to play, Mac knew the endless list of things that set him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, happy new year! this is the first thing i'm posting in 2020, so i hope it's good fkjsdhfsdffkdsf
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> * references to disordered eating
> 
> * descriptions of panic attacks / anxiety / paranoia
> 
> * internalised homophobia
> 
> * references to homophobia / hate crimes
> 
> * mild references to vomit

Daylight was streaming through the cracks in their curtains by the time Dennis woke up - he blinked sleepily and looked over at Mac, who he was still breathing deeply, curled away from Dennis and smiling a little as he dreamed.

Dennis spread his hand out against his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths through his ribcage; it was steady, comforting, easy to keep track of. The events of the evening before began to come rushing back to him, and a dull panic caught in his chest - he knew they’d reached the point of no return. 

Mac shifted beneath his hand, mumbling a little; Dennis poked at his shoulder blade, shaking him and hissing “Mac? Mac, are you awake?” Until he rolled over, eyes bleary.

“Dennis?”

“Hi.”

A slow smile spread over Mac’s face, “hi.” He said, “you alright?”

Was he? Dennis didn’t know. In lieu of an answer, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Mac’s lips.

Mac let out a little noise of surprise, almost as though he’d forgotten that this was allowed now, before he melted into the kiss, placing a careful arm around Dennis’ waist before pulling away, eyes now bright.

“I love you.” He said, without a trace of embarrassment. It sounded so easy coming from him, as though he was asking Dennis how he’d slept.

Unable to return the gesture, Dennis smiled as gently as he could, hoping Mac would understand.

He must’ve broken through somehow, because Mac returned the smile and sat up, clapping his hands together in determination, “right,” he said, “breakfast?”

Dennis groaned. Of course Mac would take the opportunity of Dennis being in a good mood to make him eat breakfast - his stomach turned at the thought of it and he almost wanted to burrow back down into the duvet for the rest of the day. But a part of him, a part that had been swelling inside him recently, wanted to do something that would make Mac keep looking at him in the way he was.

“Eggs.” He said.

Mac’s smile widened and Dennis’ heart skipped a beat.

Mac had always been a messy cook - he’d never really gotten the hang of it, all the measuring and mixing and timing. Not for a lack of trying, though. Years ago, back when they were younger and hadn’t minded living in their own filth so much, Dennis had always let him make up new recipes when they were high; they’d make a day of it, get a bunch of ingredients in and share a blunt until creativity struck. Mac would run into the kitchen, throwing things into a bowl as Dennis watched. Whatever he made had always been inedible, but Dennis had always eaten it as though it were a five star meal.

Now, he almost wished he’d been a little harsher with his criticisms.

“I burnt it again.” Mac said apologetically as he dropped a plate of charred scrambled eggs in front of Dennis, plopping down in the chair next to him with his own plate.

Biting back a cruel remark, Dennis smiled weakly, “thanks, man.”

He took a dainty bite, using every bit of self-restraint he had not to pull a face as the food hit his taste buds - it can’t have been Mac’s fault, nobody should be able to mess up scrambled eggs that badly. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe everyone was a little cursed in some way, and this was where it came out in Mac.

“It’s Tuesday.” Mac noted, with a slight edge to his voice, “what do you wanna watch tonight?”

Tuesday night was movie night.

The tradition had started back up again immediately after Dennis had arrived home, almost without question. Despite barely being on speaking terms at the time, the idea of not spending every Tuesday together on the couch was entirely alien to the two of them; it would have been like painting the walls pink, or selling the TV. 

The situation had been tense at first, with the two of them ignoring each other throughout the movie but, in recent months, the evenings had evolved into something much more like what they’d used to be: date nights.

Dennis shuffled his cold feet against the even colder floor, “I don’t know, Predator?”

“I thought you were sick of that one.”

“Yeah, but-” _ but it makes you happy _“it has a good lineup, right?”

Mac paused for a second, thinking hard, “it _ does _have a good lineup.”

“So it’s settled.”

Dennis sat back triumphantly, throwing his fork down on his half-eaten breakfast; that was probably the fastest and least aggressive movie discussion they’d ever had. Maybe this relationship shit was easier than he’d thought it was going to be.

Relationship. The word still didn’t feel right. He snuck a glance at Mac, who was openly staring at him in that tender, glazed-over way that made Dennis’ stomach churn. 

He coughed and, before he could lose his nerve, reached across the table to take Mac’s hand. Mac looked surprised, but squeezed Dennis’ fingers tightly in return.

“What else do you wanna do today?” He asked, dropping Dennis’ gaze to look at their intertwined hands.

Dennis looked out the window, seeing the thick layer of frost that rested against the glass - for the first time in his life, he understood why people loved cold weather. All it had taken was to find someone to share it with.

He wanted to live inside a commercial, inside a Hallmark movie - normal, but in a fairytale way. He wanted everything to be surface level, no deep-running resentments, no loose threads, and no problems that couldn’t be resolved with a bouquet of flowers and a kiss.

“It’s been a weird few days, man,” he said, “can we just unwind here for a while? Get the electric blanket, keep warm, binge some shitty reality show?”

Mac blinked, “that sounds fun! We could invite the rest of the gang over!”

He obviously wasn’t getting it, so Dennis squeezed his hand tighter, “I kinda thought it could just be… us.”

“Oh.” Mac’s eyes finally widened, “like a romantic thing?”

“Don’t just say it like-” Dennis began to protest, before giving up, “yeah.”

The smile that hadn’t left Mac’s face all morning grew and he leaned over to kiss Dennis, quick and sweet, before standing up to clear their plates away.

They ended up doing just what Dennis had suggested: curling up together under the electric blanket and mindlessly watching the first reality show Netflix recommended them. Mac had wrapped his arms around Dennis without any prompting, resting his chin on top of his head.

By the second episode of their show, Dennis was already almost half asleep, head lolling against Mac’s chest.

“Hey,” Mac said.

Dennis blinked, “hmm?”

“Are we gonna, y’know, tell the gang about this?”

God, the way those words made Dennis’ stomach drop. Deep down, he knew the gang wouldn’t give a shit; maybe Dee would be annoying for a week or so, and Charlie might need some extra reassurance that he wasn’t going to turn into a third wheel, but nothing worse than they’d dealt with before. It was just that there was a kind of finality to them finding out, a threshold that had to be crossed.

And, then, there was the whole sexuality business - telling the gang about him and Mac was closer to coming out than he was comfortable with.

When Mac had come out, it had been different. Everyone had known he was gay, it had been dicussed at length; when it had happened, nobody had had any questions, they’d moved past it, accepted it instantly. Dennis wasn’t sure he was going to be afforded the same luxury.

How could he come out to other people when, really, he couldn't even bring himself to say the words to himself in the mirror?

The idea of the gang discussing his sexuality behind his back, in whispered voices, like they’d used to discuss Mac’s, made him queasy.

Mac must’ve sensed Dennis tense up because he held onto him tighter, “they don’t have to know anything you don’t want them to know, Dennis. I was just wondering-”

“I don’t wanna jinx it.” Dennis admitted, “I just know that if we tell them it’ll all go wrong and…”

Mac sighed and shuffled so he could look Dennis in the eye; he looked sad, in a way Dennis couldn’t quite place, “that’s not gonna happen, man.”

“I guess.”

They sat in a tense silence for a few moments; Dennis could hear Mac grinding his teeth as he thought, and had to resist the urge to snap at him to stop.

“One more question,” Mac said, gripping Dennis’ hand under the blanket, “and I swear it’s a good one, bro.”

“Shoot.”

“Am I allowed to call you baby now?”

Surprised, Dennis choked out a laugh,” uh, sure. If you want.”

“Okay, baby.” Mac said, grinning a little.

It sounded to silly that Dennis couldn’t help returning his smile; he’d grown so used to Mac calling him dude that it had almost held the same meaning as any other petname. Still, he couldn’t deny the warm feeling that settled in his chest with the gentle way Mac stumbled over the words.

He decided to play along, for the novelty of it more than anything else, “okay then, babe,” he teased, “can you pass me my phone?” He pointed at the coffee table, just out of reach.

Mac flushed and looked away, “sure, man.”

He reached and picked the phone up, frowning a little when he looked at it.

“Hey, no snooping!” Dennis chided, well aware that he had nothing to hide - the only people who texted him anymore were the gang.

“Frank wants to see us at the bar.”

Dennis grumbled and snatched the phone from Mac, but felt his blood freeze when he saw what had made Mac’s face darken. Frank had left seven miscalls, and his texts were urgent, brisk. He never came to Dennis in a crisis.

“Uh-” he peeled away from Mac and stood up, “let’s go out - let’s go on a walk, or- or to the shops. Don’t we need to go to the grocery store, man?”

“Yeah, Den, but Frank said-”

“Fuck Frank.”

“Dennis…”

Mac knew Dennis inside and out. From the way he was sat, leaning forwards, it was obvious he understood the way his heart was pounding.

Sometimes things got to Dennis. It wasn’t deep or intricate, or really all that nuanced. Sometimes things got to him and he got scared. Frank raising his voice, tequila, tortoise shell glasses, that one song the radio loved to play, Mac knew the endless list of things that set him off.

“I wanna go grocery shopping first.” Dennis said, “please.”

Mac sighed, “okay, man. But after, we have to go to the bar.”

The way Mac said “we” calmed Dennis a little, something about the solidity of it. He exhaled through his nose and nodded, letting Mac take one of his hands.

-

They went to one of their usual grocery stores, the closest one. Dennis had been tempted to drive out further, out of Philly, out of Pennsylvania, but Mac’s hand on his shoulder had made him pull into the parking lot and cut the engine.

“What did you wanna get?” Mac asked once they were inside, gripping Dennis’ wrist.

The grocery store was completely empty. This wasn’t strange for a Tuesday afternoon, but that didn’t stop it from being slightly disconcerting. The flickering fluorescent lights made Dennis feel a little queasy, pooling unease into his bones.

He looked around, racking his brains, “uh - I think we’re almost out of coffee.”

“Nope, I picked some more up the other day.”

“Oh.”

Mac looked around, making sure nobody was watching, before he slipped his hand into Dennis’, “we could just look around for something for tonight? See if anything grabs you?”

Dennis hated thinking about food, hated wanting it - the idea of walking around the store and picking out something that “grabbed” him was mortifying, as though pulling a Pop-Tart off a shelf in front of a stranger would strip him completely naked, magnify all his imperfections in their mind. Still, Mac’s hand squeezed his tightly, and didn’t want to have to turn around and go to the bar already, so he just nodded and started walking.

Luckily for Dennis, Mac was his opposite: chalk and cheese, honey and vinegar, however the sayings went. He pulled him along enthusiastically, and pointing out what he wanted, babbling about his plans to cook Dennis a nice meal sometime soon.

Dennis happily let himself be dragged around, hardly listening to Mac. He could barely concentrate on anything but the way Mac’s hand felt in his, rough and warm and comforting, joining them together as though they were made to be like that; Dennis considered what would happen if he never let go, if he just held on forever and let them become one.

“And I think it all went wrong when we added the baking soda, but _ how _were we supposed to know that it would make everything bubble over?” He was saying, waving his free hand around to demonstrate what had happened.

The way the fluorescent lights hit him, the way he wasn’t quite smiling, the way Dennis’ lips were still burning from hours ago - it was all-consuming. It made Dennis want to do crazy, reckless things, to step outside of the solid box he’d so carefully built for himself.

“Kiss me.” He said, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Huh?” Mac’s mouth hung open, “here?”

“There’s nobody around.”

That was all Mac needed to hear before he stepped forward and kissed Dennis carefully, letting go of his hand to cup his face and trail his thumbs across his cheeks.

Dennis smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms loosely around Mac’s back to keep him in place. He felt giddy. Four kisses - that was all it had taken to get used to this, to enjoy rather than fear the way it made his stomach plummet.

His palms were sweating when Mac pulled away, and he wiped them quickly on his jeans, avoiding Mac’s gaze as well as he could.

“Thanks.” He said.

“Uh, you’re welcome.” Mac said back, awkwardly.

Dennis didn’t know how to carry on after that. He took Mac’s hand again and pulled him back along the aisle, blindly picking up a packet of biscuits and holding them up for him to see; Mac gave a bashful thumbs up, so Dennis threw them in the cart.

He felt his phone buzzing again - it had been going off nonstop since they’d left the apartment and he’d been doing his best to ignore it. Taking it out, he realised Frank had left about a million voicemails; the fear that had been steadily melting away came back to him all at once and he squeezed Mac’s hand tighter, nervous.

Mac stepped in close, somehow even closer than he’d been when he’d kissed him, and hooked an arm around his waist, “c’mon, man, the gang needs us.” He whined, “it’s not like anything bad’s gonna happen.”

“I know, but-”

“Dennis.”

“I just have a feeling, like, everything’s been going too well, Mac! Isn’t it weird that nothing bad has happened for at least twelve hours now? Isn’t it weird that, just as everything’s starting to feel okay, Frank calls out of the blue and-”

Mac silenced him with a frown, “that’s not how shit works, Dennis. God wouldn’t do that to us.”

“I don’t-” Dennis huffed a heavy breath, “I don’t know-”

“C’mon,” Mac said, face far too close for Dennis to think properly, “we’ll swing by the bar, tell everyone to go fuck themselves, then go home.”

It sounded so simple when Mac said it like that. Three simple, discrete steps for them to climb together.

“Fine.”

Mac beamed, bouncing on the walls of his feet, “trust me, man,” he said, “nothing bad’s gonna happen as long as I’m around.”

-

Something bad had happened.

Dennis knew immediately as he pulled up outside the bar; Frank was stood there, scanning the street with his eyes squinted against the heavy mist that had started to swirl its way through the road. Charlie was beside him, sweeping at something with his broom, leaning against it heavily as though he’d been working for a long time.

Exchanging a nervous glance with Mac, Dennis got out of the car. It wasn’t as cold as it had been in past days, but there was a heaviness in the air, like a storm was just waiting to break; Dennis could taste the electricity, and he licked his lips, wondering if they’d be able to make it home before the storm hit.

“You took your goddamn time!” Frank yelled waving his arms at them. Mac took a couple of solid steps and put himself between Frank and Dennis.

“We were busy.” He said, simply.

Dennis craned his neck to see what Charlie was doing and realised, with a start, that he was sweeping up a pile of broken glass. He blinked and saw what had been obscured by the thick, soupey mist before - the window was caved in, as though someone had gone wild smashing it. There was glass everywhere, and Dennis dreaded what the inside of the bar would look like.

He gripped at Mac’s arm without even thinking, fingers searching for something solid to latch onto.

“What happened?” He found himself asking, numbly.

“Break-in.” Frank said.

Dennis stepped forward and kicked at a piece of glass; for a split-second, he caught his reflection in it, pale and gaunt. He closed his eyes. They hadn’t had a break-in for years, nobody seemed to think that Paddy’s, the dirty little dive bar, had anything worth stealing.

What had changed?

Frank and Mac talked hurriedly behind him in low voices - Mac sounded upset in a way that made Dennis’ head swim.

Then it hit him, so hard that he reeled a little; Paddy’s had been targeted because of its new status as a gay bar, there was no other explanation for it.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to turn and run but finding himself caught in Mac’s arms - he looked upset.

Dennis didn’t feel anything.

That was a lie. Dennis felt betrayed; Mac had told him nothing bad could happen as long as he was around, and yet this had happened. Mac couldn’t stop the inevitable cruelty of other people, and the world suddenly became a little darker in Dennis’ eyes.

“You okay, Dennis?” He asked, fingers gripping his shoulders too tight, or, maybe, not tight enough.

“Yeah, I-” he glanced inside Paddy’s, through the ruined window, and saw Dee sat alone at the bar, “I wanna go home.”

Mac sighed, “Frank says we need to wait for his guy to get here, he has a plan.”

“His _ guy? _He has a robbery guy?”

Mac flashed a smile, the kind he usually shared with Dennis when he thought they were in something together, “no police. You know what our books are like.”

Dennis knew, but he wished he didn’t. He shook Mac’s hands from his shoulders and crossed his arms, trying to hold himself together. It was cold. He hadn’t noticed the sudden drop in temperature before, but without Mac touching him, he felt the icy chill bite at him like a stray dog. It hurt.

“Hey,” Mac’s expression clouded, “we can still wait in the car, if you want?”

Mac knew Dennis inside and out. He knew when to lead him away, when to touch and when not to touch, when to be loud and when to be quiet. The one thing he didn’t know was how to be subtle about it - his infinite knowledge felt like fingernails on a blackboard to Dennis, because he knew everything. Everything Dennis had ever been. Nobody should know that much about a person.

“No.” Dennis said, keeping the emotion from his voice.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Mac drew back, only seeming a little worried, used to Dennis’ moods. Dennis breathed in deep, feeling as an icy numbness, that felt a lot more like fear, crept through his veins; the entire world seemed fuzzy at the edges, like he’d been plunged into a cold lake, drowning as he pretended to listen to what Frank was telling Mac.

“I just need-” he stumbled, taking a step towards the shattered glass.

Mac grabbed his elbow, “careful,” he said, automatically.

Wrenching away from him, Dennis stepped forward again and felt a shard of glass crunch beneath his feet, shattering into a thousand pieces. See? He was still capable of breaking things.

“I need-” he tried again, crushing the glass further in the hopes it would permeate his sole, “a moment.”

“Okay?”

It was plain in Mac’s voice that he hadn’t made the connection between the bar and Dennis’ sudden mood - it seemed so obvious to Dennis, like a thick red wire had been laid out between them, pulling them together. Knowing him, he hadn’t even realised that the break-in wasn’t a break-in, but a-

Dennis’ heart began to pound, breaking the surface of his numbness. Of course this all had to happen when everything was going right, when he was just beginning to feel at ease. The soft, warm feeling he’d felt earlier was smothering him now, overbearing.

“Dennis, c’mon,” Mac reached out, hand hovering near Dennis’ elbow. When he didn’t pull away, he gripped onto him again, pulling him backwards and away from the glass.

Charlie was watching them, his expression neutral but his stance tense; he seemed to be aware that he was seeing something private, because he raised his eyebrows quizzically at Dennis.

“I’m going for a walk, to clear my head,” he said, roughly, shaking Mac off, “alone.”

“No, Dennis, wait-”

Dennis stepped back on the glass, not giving Mac enough warning to catch him this time - a sharp pain shot through his foot as his sole was pierced, glass slicing his instep. Ignoring the pain, he stalked away, pointedly, so Mac knew not to follow him.

Once he’d rounded the corner and gotten out of sight of the bar, he collapsed against a wall, trying to catch his breath. No matter how much he filled his lungs, it wasn’t enough, and he found himself gasping on the cold, wet air, dizzy.

His foot hurt. It was a dull pain, pulsing and steady, as though it had been a part of him forever. All he really wanted to do was curl up on the floor and close his eyes, hoping that by some miracle he’d be able to wake up in bed and start the day over again.

Still, he limped onwards, knowing he couldn’t go back to the bar after all that. He didn’t last long, only a few minutes, before he gave up, slumping to his knees on the empty sidewalk.

The rough gravel burned him, digging into is thin trousers and no doubt leaving deep imprints on his skin; his back hurt, too, tired from the effort of holding him up straight. Was this what it felt like to pray? He watched Mac do it some nights, staring at the top of his head as he mumbled to himself, too quiet for Dennis to hear.

He tried not to think of what else Mac was capable of on his knees.

A single drop of icy rain hit him. And then another. And then another; soon, he was soaked and shivering, bowing his head as the cold water trickled down the back of his neck.

The heavy footsteps came sooner than he’d expected; they were so familiar that he didn’t need to lift his head to see who it was. He did anyway, though, locking eyes with Mac as he drew closer.

“Dennis.” He said as he crouched down next to him, “hey, man.”

The panic that had been building in Dennis’ chest crashed forth and he took a deep, shuddering breath, balling his hands into fists. This was the opposite of how he’d wanted the day to go - this was his worst nightmare. Breaking down in public, people seeing Mac comfort him, touch him, even. He could feel a million eyes on him, judging him, making assumptions.

“Go away,” he said, through gritted teeth, “I mean it, Mac.”

“I will, promise, it’s just - it’s just you stepped in glass and you don’t have a jacket and - here-”

Mac practically ripped his jacket off and draped it over Dennis’ shoulders; Dennis was sure he saw his hands shaking as he tried not to let their skin brush. He hated to admit it, but the warmth helped a little, removed one layer of discomfort and made his burden just a little lighter.

Dennis closed his eyes, “I told you something bad was gonna happen.”

“It’s just a break-in, man, Frank’s gonna deal with it.”

“Break-in? Mac, we haven’t had a break-in for years - doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that they decided to do it now, only a week after we become a gay bar?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Slowly, carefully, Mac reached out to grip Dennis’ wrist. His hands were hot, in that way they always were when he was nervous. They really were perfect opposites - when Mac was scared he’d burn up, while Dennis would go clammy and cold. Together, they could reach an equilibrium.

“It might just be a coincidence.” Mac soothed, growing bolder and shuffling closer to Dennis, “they took the safe, and there were no… signs of it being-”

“-you can’t know that, Mac.”

“I can’t.” Mac paused, voice, heavy, “I know - I know how this feels, man, I’m sorry, I know it’s- I know it’s not nice.”

For a second, Dennis heard the echo of Frank’s voice across a busy street, saw Mac look up, hurt. Mac knew better than anyone.

“Was this how you felt?” He asked, “in the arbitration room?”

“No, it wasn’t like that.” Mac said, too quickly, before looking down at where his and Dennis’ hands met and saying, “maybe a little.”

“Jesus.”

The rain was coming down in sheets now; not even Mac’s coat could keep Dennis from shivering as it hit him, soaking his hair and clinging to his eyelashes. Mac reached out and wiped a raindrop from Dennis’ cheek, frowning; did he think Dennis was crying? His face was twisted with pain, as though he’d been the one who’d sliced himself on the glass.

Dennis understood that. Sometimes it was hard to tell where Mac ended and he began. People weren’t made to live like this, _ Dennis _wasn’t made to live like this.

He stood up with purpose, intending to storm away and not come back. Maybe he’d leave again for a week, a month, a year, maybe he wouldn’t call and Mac would be better off for it.

“Wait, Dennis!” Mac tightened his grip on Dennis’ wrist, but there had been no need. The moment Dennis put weight on his foot he fell back down, wincing a little as he landed on the hard sidewalk.

“Ouch.” He said.

“I wish you’d be more careful.”

The way he phrased it was almost like a prayer; Dennis winced, knowing that the words were too gentle for his ears. Who the fuck was Mac to wish for him? To pray for him?

“Don’t.” He said.

Mac carefully shifted his leg into his lap, “dude, at least let me elevate this - I don’t want you to bleed out. There’s a first-aid kit in the car, but if there’s, like, glass in there, we might need to take you to the emergency room.”

He rambled on about antiseptic wipes and stitches as Dennis stared at him, wondering how he carried on the way that he did. How could he care about Dennis’ tiny injury after all he’d put him through? What was it that made him cling to him in the way that he did? By this point, it was more likely due to stupidity than devotion, but it still made a chasm gape in Dennis’ chest.

“Mac,” he said, having to physically press a hand against his ribs to check that he wasn’t caving in on himself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Mac was busy holding his leg in his lap, looking down at it like it was a puzzle for him to solve.

Dennis gestured between them. “This.”

“Oh.”

“It’s too much.”

Mac dug his fingers into Dennis’ leg, and Dennis felt his breathing quicken, “but, last night-”

“-was a mistake.”

There was a pained expression on Mac’s face, something halfway between understanding and fear.

“Dennis, listen, I’ve done this, okay? I’ve come out and gotten overwhelmed and gone back in. I know how you feel.”

Dennis pulled his foot away from Mac and curled his knees up to his chest, “no, you don’t get it, Mac. You don’t know how I feel.”

“Of course not, man, but I’ve been there and-”

“-no, you don’t _ get _ it. You have the gang supporting you, you’re happy with the gang, that’s all you need; me, I need _ everyone. _ Every person I meet I’m _ begging _for them to like me, to see me as a normal person.

Sometimes, I think they can smell it on me, that I’m different. It’s like I walk by and suddenly all eyes are on me, and I feel like a million tiny needles are pressing into the back of my neck and- and- _ fuck!” _

Mac sighed unhappily, “you get used to it. It really fucking sucks, man, but I’ve _ been there, _okay? I went through it and I came out the other side.”

“No, Mac! I’m not you! I’m forty years old and I’m still not used to this, I’ve given up on getting used to it! Every day I feel like a goddamn spectacle no matter where I am, or what I do, or who I’m with; every day I’m trying to act how I’m supposed to and it’s so - it’s so much, every single day, pretending I understand the way the world works-”

He was almost sobbing, incoherent, as the words spilled from him, all wrong and inadequate. He’d rehearsed this speech in his head every night for years, each time trying to use a different metaphor, a different analogy to explain how he felt. But there were no words for it. Whatever poison had infected his brain, there were no magic words to explain what it was.

“Hey,” Mac said gently, “there’s nobody around to stare, Dennis. We’re alone. It’s okay.”

He wasn’t getting it.

Dennis took in a deep, shuddering breath, “I feel like this every goddamn second of every goddamn day,” he said, “it’s a living hell. And you make it worse; you make it fucking worse, Mac.”

He hadn’t meant to say that; the words had almost been ripped from him by some unseen force, stronger than Dennis’ repression. Mac’s face was pale, and his mouth hung open a little, in a cartoonish mockery of shock - as though he didn’t already know, as though he hadn’t been privy to Dennis’ suffering for the past twenty years.

Dennis could barely see through the rain. It made him want to shout louder, to admit everything to Mac, despite not having anything left to admit. Was there still a love confession rattling around in him, somewhere?

Mac knew Dennis inside and out and it was fucking terrifying. 

It was terrifying that Mac had taken the time to learn him, that he knew his favourite food and the exact way he took his tea, and how loud he could turn the stereo up before he complained. It was terrifying that he knew all this and still stayed. It was terrifying that he knew all this, and would continue to know it, even if Dennis left again - if he left, he’d still exist inside of Mac in some capacity, a part of him living there forever, intricately painted and fleshed out.

Mac was staring at him in the rain, unmoving. If he knew everything, then why was he staring like that, lost? Dennis willed him to do anything: cry, walk away, kiss him.

Maybe he really was stupid. Maybe Dennis had projected false depths onto him and he’d been too blind to see how fucked up Dennis was. Maybe this was the final mistake that would push him away.

Good. It would be better for the both of them.

Dennis dropped his head into his knees and closed his eyes; the air shifted around him and he knew Mac was inching closer.

“Dennis, please,” Mac’s voice was hoarse, like he’d just run a marathon, “let me take you home.”

Home sounded good, home sounded safe. Dennis nodded minutely and felt Mac’s arms secure around him; he tucked his head into Mac’s shoulder without thinking. They were both shaking.

“It’s okay,” Mac muttered, not standing up yet, just crouching with Dennis pressed against him, “you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, Mac,” Dennis lied, not liking the way Mac’s teeth were chattering in his ear, “I’m okay.”

Mac relaxed a little and hoisted him into the air. He’d been doing better recently, almost never dropping Dennis and actually learning to balance well enough to support him comfortably.

Dennis’ foot must’ve been a little worse than he’d first thought, because he found himself lightheaded, drifting a little as Mac carried him to the Range Rover.

“Stay still,” Mac instructed as he opened the trunk and sat Dennis down in it, maneuvering him so his leg was elevated.

He leaned forwards, head brushing Dennis’ knee, and opened a small compartment hidden in the floor that they’d used to stash booze in once upon a time. Inside, Dennis saw a first aid kit, a six-pack of water bottles, and a couple of boxes of granola bars. His chest began to ache worse than his foot.

“You don’t need to do this.” He said.

Mac unzipped the first aid kit and sat back, worrying a bandage between his fingers, “I know.” He said, tearing off a long strip of the fabric and loosening Dennis’ shoe.

“Mac…”

Mac didn’t say anything, though his face paled a little as he examined Dennis’ cut. He prodded it, making Dennis hiss.

Dennis tapped Mac’s arm, trying to get his attention, “Mac.” He said again, with a little less patience than before.

“Sorry, man, I know it hurts, I just need to check for glass…”

“Mac!”

Mac looked up sharply, meeting Dennis’ gaze. He seemed to know what he was about to say before he said it, because he mouthed a simple, “Dennis.” As though he knew there was no salvaging the situation.

“I can’t do this. I really mean it.”

Mac pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, looking for a moment as he had back before he stopped slicking it up, “you want to go back to how things were.” He said, blankly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? You’re not gonna try and stop me?”

There was a pause as Mac took Dennis’ foot again and began wrapping it in the bandage, “do you want me to stop you?”

There was an edge to his voice, an extra layer that Dennis wished he couldn’t hear - suddenly, he was back in the bar, hand against the door, willing Mac to step forward and ask him to stay. To stop him from doing something stupid.

He shrugged, staring as Mac wrapped the bandage round and round in a dizzying, circular motion.

That’s what they were, really, a circle. Dennis didn’t know how many times they’d completed their ruinous journey and started over, but he recognised this landmark. This was where he pushed away.

Here’s how things always went: Mac would be sweet and make Dennis feel good, he’d compliment him or buy him an expensive gift or kiss him until he forgot what he had to be scared of. Then, something would happen, someone would make a comment or Dennis’ piece of shit brain would get in the way, or he’d fuck up somehow. And then he’d run.

Dennis was always the one who ran. Mac had been the brave one from the very start.

“You know, I went back into the closet, Dennis,” Mac said quietly, “and, even though it didn’t change anything, it gave me time to think. Maybe, if you just need a moment to breathe, I could-”

“I’m not going _ back into the closet, _Mac! Jesus Christ, I never came out of the closet, I didn’t have to come out because I’m not - I’m not-”

“No, I know, man, but,” Mac sighed, “it doesn’t have to be all at once - whatever we’re doing, we can go slower or, like, take a break. I don’t care. Whatever you need.”

“We’re not ‘doing’ anything, Mac.”

Denial. That had always been Mac’s game more than Dennis’, but now he was willing to give it a try. He’d watched Mac do it for long enough, he was sure he knew how to throw it right back in his face - maybe it would feel like some kind of revenge for the years of homophobic rants Mac had drowned him in, the way he’d seemed to catch his repression just as easily as he’d caught the flu.

He could erase a day in his mind. What was a day? He’d forgotten so many of them; four kisses, that was all he had to live with.

Mac finished wrapping his foot and put his shoe back on, “don’t be a dick about this, man.” He said, with surprising force.

“Huh?”

“You’re being a dick.”

“How am I being a dick?”

“You’re-” Mac sighed, closing his eyes, “can we just go home? Please?”

There was a moment where Dennis wanted to nod silently and take Mac’s hand, give a silent apology that he knew Mac would accept, even though he really shouldn’t.

But he just couldn’t do it - there was an icy pressure in his veins, and the way Mac looked at him from beneath his rain-slicked eyelashes made him want to throw up. He couldn’t go home with him.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Mac threw the leftover bandage into the car, so hard it hit the backseat with a gentle thump. For a second, Dennis thought he was going to turn on his heel and leave without another word but, instead, he took his hand. His grip was tentative, but earnest.

“We can’t keep this up forever, man.” He said, dropping his gaze to his feet, “I’m fine with you being in the closet but this whole cycle…”

“I’m not in the-”

“-just text me where you’re staying tonight. So I know you’re safe.”

Even in his anger, he still cared. Dennis nodded numbly, offering his hand a squeeze as Mac leaned in and pressed their foreheads together for a long second. Dennis shivered as Mac’s warm skin brushed against his.

It felt like a goodbye. It felt more like a goodbye than their previous ones; more, even, than the glances they’d exchanged across the bar before Dennis had run away all those years ago.

“Right.” Mac said, obviously trying to fill the silence.

He clapped his hands together and stepped back from the car, closing his eyes. The rain was still coming down hard and, away from the cover of the trunk, he was fully submerged in it, letting it soak his shirt.

Dennis looked down at himself and realised he was still wearing his jacket - he opened his mouth to ask if Mac wanted it back, but when he lifted his head again he was gone, as though he’d never been there.

He sat alone in silence for a moment, listening to the rain on the roof and feeling his foot pulse distantly; then, he held Mac’s jacket above his head and hobbled over to the driver’s seat, careful not to get his hair any wetter than it already was.

-

He drove to Dee’s. Or, at least, he ended up at Dee’s; he didn’t remember driving there. One minute he was pulling away from Paddy’s, scrubbing the moisture from his face, and the next he was outside her door, hunched on the sticky carpet with his head between his knees.

Dee’s neighbours had always disliked him, always given him weird looks in the hallways as he passed; he supposed he’d earned the looks, after the years of screaming and crying and getting so high he fell down the stairs.

They were beneath him, but, still, he shrunk back as they passed, sniffing in disdain as he almost tripped them; one woman, who Dennis hadn’t seen before, looked concerned, but was still wary enough to keep her distance.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but it felt like a lifetime had passed by the time he felt someone kick at his shoes and couch loudly. Dennis raised his head to see Dee stood there, arms firmly crossed.

“You look like shit.” She said.

She’d obviously been caught in the rain as well - her hair and clothes were soaked, and she was squeezing her damp hoodie between her hands, dripping water in a small puddle in front of Dennis. He shuffled away from it.

“I’m staying here tonight.” He replied.

On any other night, Dee would’ve made fun of him or, at the very least, told him off for sitting outside her apartment and scaring her neighbours. Right then, she seemed subdued, as though lost in thought. She didn’t complain when Dennis pushed into the apartment ahead of her, nor when he helped himself to her vodka.

They settled on the sofa together, neither of them speaking a word; the ticking of the clock on Dee’s mantelpiece was so loud it made Dennis’ spine itch.

“So,” Dennis began, unnerved by the silence, “the bar.”

“That wasn’t a regular break-in.” Dee said, mechanically.

“No.”

She sighed, gesturing for Dennis to give her the vodka; he did, and she took a long swig.

“Jesus, Dee, slow down-”

“Dennis.”

There was a gravity to her voice that made Dennis’ heart stutter in chest. Despite everything, the bickering and the fighting and the resentment, Dee was the first one Dennis looked to in the face of danger. If Mac was Dennis’ protector, then Dee was an equal who fought alongside him; the two of them had lived through a childhood under Frank’s thumb, and that counted for a lot.

Seeing her act like this, chugging vodka, sitting there numbly and saying his name as a portender of bad news, made him suddenly feel very very small, as though he’d halved in size.

“What?” He snapped, trying to cover his fear with annoyance.

“I, uh-” She looked down at her hands, “I don’t know how to say this, but-”

Oh shit. “You’re not dying, are you?” Not even his sarcasm could hide the real panic in his voice as the possibilities ran through his mind: cancer, heart troubles, a brand new disease designed entirely to make their lives worse.

“Dying? No, you dick, I-”

She sighed, standing up from the couch and pacing around. Dennis rolled his eyes, annoyed by the dramatics.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life and my choices, and I think I might-” she paused, chewing her lip and folding her arms again, “have you met Amy?”

“Amy? Who the fuck is Amy?”

“Amy? My friend Amy whose idea this gay bar thing was in the first place? Who’s come to the bar every night this week? Who you’ve definitely served but were probably too busy touching Mac up to pay attention to?”

Dennis scowled, “I haven’t been _ touching Mac up.” _

“Whatever. Anyway, Amy and I, uh- had some conversations that were interesting, and she made me realise a few things about my… love life.”

Where was this heading? Dennis tapped his foot impatiently, the jab about Mac hurting more than it should have as the events of the afternoon played in the back of his mind.

“Dennis, I think -” she said, “I think I’m, like, a lesbian.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me, asshole.”

Dennis sat there, shocked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t completely seen this coming - he’d always gotten a sense from Dee, like she was struggling with the same things he was. When he looked her in the face, she was really a mirror image of him, just as he as a mirror image of her.

He cleared his throat, “wow, uh, congrats.”

“C’mon, Dennis, I’m serious!”

“So am I!” He said, sitting up straight, “I mean it, I’m happy for you, figuring shit out and everything. I’m glad you can, like, be yourself. Or whatever.” He winced, knowing everything he said was inadequate. Knowing he’d never have the right words.

But he didn’t need the right words with Dee; she’d take the wrong ones and turn them into whatever she needed them to be.

“Gross.” She said, “you get mushier and mushier with every passing year, Dennis.”

“So do you, dick!”

Still, he smiled at her as she flopped back down on the couch, heaving a huge sigh of relief as though she’d been holding it inside her for a very long time.

“Now it’s your turn.” She said, handing him the bottle of vodka.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes, “your turn, dick! What? Did you expect to be able to turn up on my doorstep, mascara running down your face, and _ not _have to tell me your sad little story?”

Dennis jumped, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. He could’ve sword he’d been wearing waterproof makeup; the look of glee on Dee’s face made his stomach lurch with a sudden surge of anger.

“First of all, I got caught in the rain so that’s why my makeup is so-” he gestured towards his face, cheeks suddenly burning with the realisation that the strangers that had traipsed past him as he waited must’ve seen him like that, “second of all, there’s no sad story.”

“Uh-huh, why aren’t you at home with Mac, then?”

Dennis knew he’d lost when he flinched at Mac’s name, feeling the sting of it like broken glass before Dee had even finished her sentence.

“Maybe we had a small disagreement, but it doesn’t concern you, and I-”

“-was it about the bar?”

“Yes.”

There was a sadness in Dee’s eyes that made Dennis squirm a little - she understood perfectly.

Being known by Dee wasn’t the same as being known by Mac. When Mac remembered something about Dennis, or passed him an apple as he was about to complain about being hungry, it sent a bolt of confused fear through him, like he wanted to be happy but didn’t know how. With Dee, on the other hand, it was an inconvenience, an annoying disadvantage in avoiding conversations with her.

“Dennis,” she said, voice dripping with faux-sympathy, “you know how the gang feel about this kind of stuff, it won’t change anything.”

“Don’t.”

“The bar was pretty scary today, but it really isn’t a big deal. Life goes on.”

Dennis laughed, humourlessly, “I’d say all of this is a pretty big deal, Dee.”

“You think everything’s a big deal.”

That was true. “Fuck off.”

They fell back into the gaping silence for a while, passing the bottle behind them as they got steadily drunker and drunker. There was something familiar in it, in the mutual agreement not to talk about something until they were drunk enough to cope with it.

“Mac, uh-” Dennis said after a while, his tongue loosened a little, “Mac kissed me last night.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah.” 

Dee was silent for a moment, before tentatively asking, “how… was it?” As though she regretted the question before it even passed her lips.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dennis sighed, digging his nails into his palms, “it felt right, y’know? Like, when you turn an old key in a lock. It worked.”

“Yeah, I get you.”

He supposed she did.

“But, I’m not… gonna do what you did.” He said. Come out. He could barely let the words float on the surface of his mind, wincing whenever he thought of them, “and Mac knows that now.”

“Oh, Dennis, you dumbass.”

“Do you have to insult me every time I come over here?”

“Apparently! Because you never listen! You really couldn’t last forty eight hours without pushing Mac away, and now I have to deal with the fallout of it all! No doubt, he’ll be texting me in a few minutes, asking if I’m with you, telling me to make sure you eat and don’t drink too much and sleep somewhere comfortable.”

Dennis frowned, leaning forward to put his head in his hands, “does he really do that?”

Dee huffed out a sigh and stood up, stalking into her room for a second before reappearing with her phone clutched tightly in her hands. She handed it to Dennis without a word and he looked down at it. With a jolt, he realised it was open on the gang groupchat.

“Dee, I’m not telling the gang like this, holy shit,” he stuttered, “I’m not telling the gang at all, I-”

“Relax asshole, I’m not making you come out in the groupchat, Jesus. Read what’s on the screen.”

Dennis looked down. The phone was displaying messages from when the gang had gone to the zoo, months ago now. Specifically, it was showing the long paragraphs Mac had sent him that he’d been too upset to read, then promptly forgotten about when they’d gotten home.

He laughed in disbelief, was Dee really going to try and get to him by showing him old messages from a groupchat? What could Mac have possibly said that would sway him?

His smile faded, however, as he read the messages. They were love letters; surprisingly stark confessions that made Dennis’ stomach plummet as he read them.

“Oh.” He said.

“Yeah.”

“And I didn’t respond to those?”

“No.”

A pang of guilt surged through Dennis. All he seemed to do was hurt Mac, through every emotion, all he could do was harm; he was almost glad he’d pushed him away. He didn’t deserve someone who would respond to a love confession with a single emoji. 

“So, are you gonna go home now?” Dee asked, unaware her plan had backfired.

“No. I - I don’t think so.”

Dee rolled her eyes, “goddamn it,” she said, “fine. Sleep on the couch for the night, but you _ need _to go home tomorrow. And you owe me a bottle of vodka.”

She didn’t even look at him before snatching her phone and leaving to go to her bedroom; she only turned around when she reached the door, a sudden look of concern on her face.

“You know Frank was actually the first to jump on the gay bar idea when Amy suggested it, right?” She asked.

“No, I-”

“He’s a dick, don’t get me wrong, but he’s on board with… everything. Especially after that whole dance thing Mac did.”

“Okay. Cool.”

A weight Dennis hadn’t known was pressing down on him lifted, and he breathed.

Once she’d left him, he picked up his phone and tapped out a quick message to Mac’ as he’d promised to, “@ Dee’s.” He said, “Sorry.”

Mac didn’t reply. Mac didn’t reply for a long time, until Dennis was woken by the sound of his phone pinging a few hours later.

“K.” He’s said.

Dennis buried his head into the couch cushion and shook.

-

“What’s this shit about a dog, then?” Dee asked Dennis over breakfast the next morning.

Dennis’ breakfast was a single black coffee, bitter and lukewarm; he almost missed the creative messes Mac would serve him up, the burned eggs and the badly chopped fruit slices.

“Oh, shit,” he said, suddenly remembering Pippin, “we were going to adopt one but I guess-”

“Breakups are tough, huh?”

Dee was in a rotten mood. Dennis supposed waking her up at six in the morning by vomiting in her bathroom can’t have been a great way to start her day, but it was her fault for having such a shitty one-bathroom apartment.

He scowled, taking a sip of coffee, “it’s not a breakup, Dee. We weren’t together in the first place.”

“Uh-huh, tell that to Mac.”

Dennis remembered the curt text Mac had sent him earlier and visibly winced. Maybe this _ was _a breakup - maybe this had been the final straw and Mac would move on and move out and leave him alone, just like he’d been telling him to for years.

Swallowing his coffee and his fear, he played his usual part: normal, neurotic Dennis, annoyed by the simplest of things. “Goddamn it,” he said, “I guess it’s up to me to stop by the shelter and tell Julia we can’t take the dog after all.”

Dee’s head snapped towards him, “wait, Julia? Julia Highwood?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know her surname?”

“Small, blonde, weirdly nice, works at the pet shelter?”

“Yeah?”

Dee smiled, almost shyly, like she was savouring something sweet, “I banged her sister.”

“Hah! Nice.”

For once, Dennis was genuinely happy for Dee - she was putting herself out there in ways he would never dream of. It did mean, however, that she refused to accompany him to the shelter. 

He drove there alone. It wasn’t a long journey, but the roads seemed to stretch on forever, dreary miles of rain and greyness and waves of traffic that seemed to be designed specifically to wear his nerves thinner. He wanted to cry. The idea of saying goodbye to that dog, to _ his _dog, would have broken his heart, had that been possible. Knowing it was his fault made the deed that much more bitter.

When he finally pulled up outside the shelter, he froze entirely, hands fixed to the steering wheel. He could see Julia talking to a customer, who was blocked from his view by the windowpane; she looked happy, unaware of the dark cloud Dennis was about to bring into her store.

He decided to wait until the other customer was gone, affording himself the luxury of at least not having an audience.

And then Julia was waving goodbye to the customer, and Dennis stepped out of the car, shivering in the cold morning rain - he still had Mac’s jacket but, without his lingering body heat, it did nothing.

He blinked hard against the water running down his face and walked towards the store; unable to see where he was going, he walked right into the customer as he came out of the shop. He was just about to yell at him for not looking where he was going, when two familiar hands gripped at his arms.

“Dennis?”

Dennis blinked, and realised who he was looking at.

“Hey, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and sticking with me for so long <3 i hope this new year is kinder to us all!


	8. eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mac shifted from one foot to the other, "is this a hug?" He asked, sounding almost confused._   
_"What the fuck else would it be?" Dennis snapped._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry for the change in schedule, i hope everyone's good with me uploading once every 2 weeks <3 it's just easier
> 
> **content warnings**
> 
> *alcohol abuse (no worse than is usually seen in sunny) 
> 
> *implied / referenced eating disorders

Mac’s eyes were wide and bruised with the unmistakable dark circles of a sleepless night; Dennis wanted to reach out and run his thumb beneath them, to see if they felt as sunken as they looked, but he held back. The thick, cloying smell of booze seemed to seep from him, and Dennis could see now that he was a little unsteady on his feet, as though the scent wasn’t entirely from the night before.

“Mac,” he sighed in despair. He seemed to say his name in despair more than any other emotion nowadays.

What he really wanted to do was shout - he wanted to replace the cold clouds of fear in his chest with hot anger and move onwards to the next stage of their never-ending circle. He wanted to push Mac away and be held at arm's length again, as he had so many times before.

But he just couldn’t do it.

When Mac had come out, it was like a switch had flipped in his brain. He’d known, in that moment, that it was about to get harder - harder to lie, harder to run away and harder to come back again after. At the time, he’d assumed it would be because Mac would get tired of his bullshit, but he’d been wrong; Mac had remained kind and understanding, infuriatingly patient. Instead, it was almost like he couldn’t bring himself to carry on.

He found it was harder to pull away from someone with their arms open than someone with their arms closed.

“What are you doing, man?” Mac asked, dully. Sure enough, he was slurring his words, syllables sticking to his tongue like honey, or like the glue he’d used to huff in Charlie’s basement when they were kids.

Dennis glanced at Julia through the window of the shelter; he felt a little guilty, knowing that it was far too early for anyone to be dealing with a drunk Mac.

“Uh,” Dennis didn’t know what to say - his plan had been to cancel Pippin’s adoption and never bring it up again. What was one more item on the pile of things they didn’t talk about? “I came to see the dog.”

“Same.”

“Listen, Mac-”

“-I’m sorry.”

Dennis felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, “what?”

“I’m sorry.” Mac repeated, knotting his fingers together clumsily, “whatever happened yesterday was, like, probably my fault, and-”

It hurt. Dennis wanted to think of some other way to describe how Mac’s sad, drooping shoulders made him feel - a slap in the face, an icy burn that ran down his spine and made him shudder. But a hurt was all that it was, a pain that pushed from deep within him and made him want to wrench Mac’s hands apart, disrupting their nervous twisting.

A few years ago, Mac wouldn’t have apologised. A few years ago, Mac wouldn’ve yelled and caused a scene and put Dennis in his rightful place. A few years ago, Mac wouldn’t have remained gentle through all of this.

Maybe it was better this way, healthier, even, but it still hurt. There was no feeling like one person moving forward while the other stayed solidly glued in place, the golden thread of hope that stretched between them tightening, cutting off their circulation.

“Don’t apologise.” Dennis said, as forcefully as he could.

Mac worried his lip beneath his teeth, holding his arms stiffly, “but, dude, you kept saying you weren’t comfortable and I kept pushing, and touching you, and- and maybe if we’d ignored Frank’s calls like you said we should-”

“ _ Stop,  _ man, what the fuck is  _ wrong  _ with you? I treat you like shit and  _ you  _ apologise to  _ me?  _ Why can’t you just be angry? Why can’t you just hate me for five minutes, like you deserve to?”

Mac stopped short at the outburst, staring at Dennis as though he’d started speaking in a foreign language, “huh?”

“You used to get so angry, Mac. Where did it all go?”

“I-” Mac sighed, shaking his head unsteadily, “I don’t need it as much anymore, I don’t think.”

Relief washed over Dennis; it was nice to know that it wasn’t a change he’d wrung from him. For a long while, he'd been afraid that he'd been the one to grind Mac down into what he had recently become.

Maybe this new gentleness was even a good thing, and Dennis was just too far gone to understand what healing looked like anymore.

Still, it didn’t feel right. He knew he didn’t deserve as many chances as he was getting.

“You should yell at me,” he said quietly, “you should punch my in the face and call me a dick.”

That’s what he’d done ten years ago - Dennis almost fondly remembered the time he’d split his lip in a fit of drunken passion. It had been passion in the wrong way, of course, but he had to take what he could get.

Mac rolled his eyes, “you  _ are  _ a dick, Dennis.” He put a hand on his cheek, so tentative that Dennis was afraid to even blink, “but I’m not gonna punch you.”

Dennis sighed, relaxing for a moment before that familiar prickling feeling started up the back of his neck. He was painfully aware of the people driving past and what the scene must look like; the way he was folding his arms around himself, the way Mac was leaning forward gently, the way neither of them seemed able to move away from each other. A lover’s quarrel. 

His heart sped up, constricting his lungs a little, “can we talk about this at home?” He asked, almost desperately, “please?”

Mac sighed and dropped his hand, “alright. It’s cold as shit anyway.”

Dennis realised he was shivering despite the thick jacket wrapped around his shoulders. He nodded, looking up and down Mac’s bare arms in disbelief; it was a wonder he was even still alive, with the October air nipping at his skin like that.

“You okay to drive?” Mac pressed.

“Obviously, I-”

Was that a question about this sobriety or his mental state? Either way, Mac was one to talk; he was still swaying a little, and Dennis was half ready to catch him when he inevitably stumbled on the uneven pavement.

“Good.” Mac said, “‘cos I’m not.”

Dennis snorted, “no shit.”

Then, in the ultimate sacrifice of his immune system, he took his jacket off and draped it over Mac’s shoulders before pushing him gently towards the Range Rover.

Mac got in the passenger seat and Dennis got in the driver’s seat - it felt good for one thing, at least, to be normal.

“Home?” Dennis asked, like there was anywhere else in the world either of them had to go.

He still felt a strange relief as Mac nodded absently, fiddling with the stereo in that fussy way he always did; he popped in the same cassette that had almost thrown Dennis into a rage a few nights ago. Without warning, a love song floated from the speakers, filling Dennis’ chest with what must’ve been dread.

He swallowed, “you made this tape, right?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence, of Mac twisting his hands nervously, before Dennis pushed further. “Why?” He asked, despite knowing the answer.

“The songs made me think of you.” It really was always that easy with Mac. 

“They’re good songs.”

“I know.”

Dennis bobbed his head to the beat for a moment, trying not to focus too hard on the lyrics. Love. That was the word that kept repeating over and over like a mantra until it was the only one that registered in Dennis’ mind. Love, songs about love. Mac had made Dennis a mixtape of love songs for no reason other than to make him happy. 

He cleared his throat, a little nervous about the lump that kept forming there, and focused on the road. It was still raining, but the sky had cleared up and he could see the sun beginning to poke through the clouds. He glanced nervously over at Mac and turned the heating up, just in case.

“You okay?” He asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

Dennis’ face felt tight and he swallowed again, focusing on the road with far more intensity than was necessary.

-

They made it home in record time; the traffic that had annoyed Dennis so much earlier had disappeared, and he found himself wishing he’d taken the long way home.

Because, the closer they got to the apartment, the more nervous Mac seemed to get. Dennis knew his body language too well by now, and he knew by the way he was looking down at his hands and scratching at his chin, that there was a nasty surprise waiting for him at home.

All sorts of terrible things bubbled at the back of his mind: a one night stand yet to go home, Dennis’ clothes torn to shreds, all their photos smashed from their frames and left in a tattered pile on the floor. Sadness had always been Mac's strongest motivator. 

What he was actually met with, by the time he and Mac had managed to bundle their was up the stairs, was more predictable, and yet, much worse, than what he’d pictured.

The place was a tip; with bottles and broken glass littering every surface; he could practically see Mac’s path of destruction, how he’d moved from the kitchen to the living room, where he’d given up on throwing bottles in the bin and started throwing them on the floor, where he’d realised that smashing the bottles felt better than letting them fall gently.

It almost looked like Charlie’s bad place, and Dennis’ heart did a bungee jump.

Mac was right when he said he didn’t have much use for anger anymore, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there, bubbling beneath the surface.

“Fuck.” Dennis muttered, looking over at Mac, “Jesus Christ, man.”

Mac didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he crossed the room and sat down heavily on the couch, scratching at the back of his neck and doing his best to ignore his surroundings.

“I’ll clean it.” He said, suddenly, as though that was the reason why Dennis was upset.

Rolling his eyes, Dennis followed Mac to the couch, picking his way carefully across the floor, not wanting to slice his foot open for a second time.

Obviously thinking the same thing, Mac watched him intently, biting his lip the one time Dennis stumbled and almost stepped on an upturned piece of glass.

“Be careful.” He said, out of instinct more than anything else.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Dennis snapped, but he held onto Mac’s shoulder as he hopped up on the couch, tucking his legs safely beneath him.

“So, you were okay last night?” Mac asked, Dennis’ injury clearly at the forefront of his mind, obscuring the irony of the question.

Dennis didn’t even have it in him to point this out, “yeah,” he muttered, “I was with Dee.”

The statement was a question.  _ Who did you have?  _ As if to answer it, Mac ducked his head and kicked at an unbroken bottle, watching as it span and clattered across the room.

“Mac…” 

“I was fine.” Mac answered before Dennis asked, “I know how to - it was only one night, man. One night isn’t too bad.”

Dennis didn’t like to think about how Mac knew that - he didn’t want to think about how many nights he’d spent like this while he was away. Had the nights stretched into days? Had he forgotten where he was, like Dennis had, and just drank and drank without checking the date for weeks?

He reminded himself that Mac had had the gang. But that was a small comfort after seeing the mess in front of him.

What he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and apologise, to promise not to leave again and tell him how much he l-

Well, he knew what he wanted to tell him.

Instead, he cleared his throat and sat up straight, pressing a hand against Mac’s back, “okay,” he said, “we’d better get this shit cleared up fast if we’re gonna be bringing that dog home tomorrow, man. I want to make a good first impression on her, so we can raise her right.”

Mac’s eyes shone. Maybe it was the excitement of remembering Pippin, or maybe he understood exactly what Dennis meant to say; either way, it was enough to take some of the heaviness out of his shoulders.

They sat there for a moment, unmoving; Dennis’ hand was still resting lightly on Mac’s back until Mac worked up the courage to turn his head and look him in the eye.

“You look tired.” He said, brow furrowing a little.

“So do you.”

Mac sighed, “I am.”

There was something in the way he dipped his head that made Dennis soften, “fine,” he said, tapping his fingers against Mac’s spine, “first we clean this mess up, then we go the hell back to bed.”

Really, he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch and fall asleep with his head in Mac’s lap, but that wouldn’t have been fair. And something about the way Mac was looking at him made him want to be fair.

They spent the next three hours cleaning. 

The thing about glass was that it got everywhere, digging itself into the floorboards and hiding in all the cracks and creases of the apartment; Dennis knew they’d still be digging it out for months, getting hurt trying to do the most mundane of things. 

Still, it felt nice to have the apartment feel safe again. He picked up the last bottle and threw it into a bin bag, smiling in satisfaction as he heard it shatter. Mac glared at him, having been complaining that he was worried the bags would slice open as he carried them downstairs.

Dennis shrugged in apology.

“So, uh, hey,” he said, “how about that nap?”

Mac’s tired eyes lit up, “yeah.” He said quietly.

He hovered where he was for a moment, before looking nervously at his bedroom door. Dennis knew what he was thinking; he was wondering whether he was invited into Dennis’ room, and kicking himself for getting rid of his own bed too early.

“I saw the gym stuff in your room.” Dennis said, as neutrally as his voice would allow, “it looked cool.”

“Dude, I swear I was gonna tell you, but it all happened so fast, and-”

Dennis sighed, holding a hand up. “Don’t, man. It doesn’t matter - you weren’t using the bed anyway.

Speaking the unspoken made Mac fall deadly silent - even after everything that had happened, Dennis realised they’d never properly discussed their sleeping arrangements.

He was just tired of it, too exhausted to deny that he preferred the safety of a warm body next to him while he slept and that, maybe, the fact that this particular warm body belonged to Mac made some hidden weight lift from his chest.

“Okay.” Mac said, nervously, “cool.”

Dennis could feel the relief radiating from him, and remembering how big of an argument this same situation had caused a few years ago. Maybe he really was changing, just too slowly to notice.

So, he tried to push forward, to do what him of three years ago had been too much of a coward to do. He stepped forwards and reached out for Mac; slowly, and with more willpower than he’d ever displayed before, he pulled him into a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Dude,” he said, straining to keep his voice level, “I’m so hungover.”

“Really?” Mac asked, hands automatically pressing Dennis’ back to steady him, “try being me, man. I drank a whole liquor store last night.”

Dennis laughed, “you’re still drunk, though. Not hungover yet.”

“Maybe.”

Dennis breathed in, shaking a little. This still felt weird - even after kissing Mac, even after spending months letting him massage him and carry him; holding him in the silent apartment almost felt too intimate.

Mac shifted from one foot to the other, "is this a hug?" He asked, sounding almost confused.

"What the fuck else would it be?" Dennis snapped.

For a second, he allowed himself to think about the day before. With hindsight, he was unbearably embarrassed, aware he’d been overreacting. So what if he was in pain, if he felt like screaming all the time - did everyone not feel like that? A sudden guilt overtook him and the knowledge that his own stupid outburst had almost driven Mac to drink himself to death made him wrap his arms around him just that little bit tighter.

“Sorry.” He said, unable to elaborate.

Mac stayed still, neither tightening, nor loosening his grip, “yeah.”

Dennis wanted to press further, to apologise over and over until Mac understood what he meant, but, as he opened his mouth, he felt his phone buzzing in his back pocket.

Nervous from the events of the day before, the feeling of it made his heart drop deep into his stomach. What new thing had come along to ruin them? He pushed Mac away and fished his phone out with shaking hands, staring blankly at the screen.

“REMINDER: MONTHLY DINNER,” it read.

If it was possible, and apparently it was, Dennis’ heart sunk even lower. On top of everything else, he’d forgotten to book them a table at Guigino’s; how could Mac know he was serious about all this if he couldn’t even do the simplest of things?

He cast his eyes downwards and turned the phone around for Mac to see.

Surprisingly, he broke into a smile, “oh!” He said, “I’d completely forgotten what day it was, dude!”

“So did I.” Dennis admitted in defeat.

Mac furrowed his brow, “if you’re too tired, we can go tomorrow instead, Den. I don’t mind.”

“No, I-”

“Or, if you’re still, like, nervous, we can ask to sit in the corner, I promise I won’t touch you or act like-”

“Goddamn it, Mac, I forgot to book a table, okay?”

Mac blinked.

Sighing, Dennis took a step back and sat down on the couch, “this is, like, the third monthly dinner we’ve missed, man.”

Their monthly dinners had started as some kind of loophole - a covert way of going on fancy dates without ever facing the consequences. For years, Dennis had spent every month looking forward to them, planning every detail meticulously and saving up any extra cash he could so they could treat themselves.

But, after he’d gotten back from North Dakota, they’d felt more like a formality, like a business meeting. Neither of them had known what to do with their hands before their food was brought out.

They’d revolved around those evenings for so long, though, that they’d rather suffer through than drop them entirely. Dennis was sure the death of the tradition would be a premonition of something much darker.

“Hey,” Mac said, shifting anxiously, “you know Guigino’s isn’t the only restaurant in town, right? We could always go somewhere else.”

Dennis frowned. He’d been so set in his ways that it hadn’t even occurred to him that that was an option - Guigino’s was  _ the  _ place they went for their monthly dinners. It had the perfect balance between not being overtly romantic, but nice enough that the evenings always ended up being a little soft and rosy around the edges.

He looked down at his hands, almost wanting to argue that going nowhere was better than going to the wrong place, “like where?” He asked, a little bitterly.

“Uh - well, there’s this new Italian place open down the road. It’s pretty similar to Guigino’s but smaller, and always empty, and-” Mac breathed in, “and it looks nice.”

Dennis lifted his head as Mac forced the last few words out, smiling a little. It was rare, nowadays, for Mac to give his genuine opinion on something.

“You wanna go there?” He asked, quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Cool. Good.”

He checked his phone. They had hours before the time they usually went to dinner, and he still felt heavy with exhaustion. He was also very aware that he was grimy, having slept with his face buried into Dee’s sticky couch cushion.

“Tell you what, man.” He said, standing up and heading over to the bedroom, “you go nap, I’ll join you in a bit. I need a shower.”

Mac followed him, “you’re sure?”

“Yeah, man. I won’t be long.”

“I could wait-”

“Mac.” Dennis opened the bedroom door and gently pushed Mac inside, “you look like shit. Go to bed.”

Mac shot him a glare, but did as he was told, kicking off his shoes and climbing into bed.

“Don’t be long.” He said, eyes trained on Dennis as he picked out a set of clean clothes and headed towards the bathroom.

“I won’t, man.”

That seemed to satisfy him, because he closed his eyes and curled up beneath the duvet, breathing evening out almost instantly. Dennis shook his head fondly.

He’d forgotten about his makeup.

It was the first thing he saw when he entered the bathroom, a ruined and stained face staring back at him.

This wasn’t something that he usually allowed to happen; on a good day, he’d check himself in every shop window he passed, peer into the rearview mirror more often than he looked at the road ahead of him. But the past twenty-four hours had been so distracting that vanity had temporarily been pushed from his mind.

No wonder Mac had been so eager to apologise; he looked a mess, the remnants of mascara trailing down his face; foundation rubbing off to reveal the pallid skin below; eyeliner smudged into dark, smokey circles. It made his insides curl in on themselves with betrayal - makeup was supposed to make him feel better, not worse.

He scrubbed it off angrily, swearing under his breath. No matter how bad his makeup was, what lay beneath was always worse. He almost wanted to wake Mac up and ask him to sit with him like he usually did, but he knew that was cowardly. Just this once, he wanted to be brave.

So he cleaned his face as best as he could, before stripping down to have a quick shower. Usually, before monthly dinners, he’d go through his entire routine - shampoo, conditioner, exfoliants, body cream, moisturiser. But he was so tired, he only managed to give himself a quick once-over with some soap before he stumbled back out again, pulling his clothes on and patting his hair with a towel.

He turned to the mirror again. There he was - blotchy and pale and bare, hair wet and sticking up at weird angles. He looked awful, but, at the very least, he was solid and, he thought, maybe that was all that mattered.

So, instead of getting lost in the mirror as he often did, he turned on his heel and left the bathroom, letting the momentum carry him right into bed. Mac was still splayed out, head resting inconveniently right in the middle of their two pillows, but Dennis didn’t mind. He crawled under the covers next to him, setting an alarm on his phone before sighing into a deep and comfortable sleep.

-

Dennis felt more well-rested than he had in years as he stepped out into the street later that evening, breathing in deeply as he turned to face Mac, who was following close behind.

“Nice night.” Mac said quietly, tilting his head to look up at the sky, as though observing the stars. Dennis knew it was for show, or out of some long-dormant instinct, because the city smog had turned the sky into a flat, brown blanket of nothingness.

Dennis smiled at him nevertheless, “whatever you say, man.”

They didn’t pass anybody else as they walked to the restaurant. Mac had insisted they walk - remembering how they’d had to leave the Range Rover behind last time and call an Uber. Dennis wasn’t about to complain, though. It was nice to do something silently together, with no obligation to be anything he didn’t know how to be.

After a while, Mac broke the silence, “nights like this always remind me of the time we nearly got arrested for arson.”

“Arson?” Dennis laughed, “I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah, man. You were fucked up.”

“Who lit the fire?”

Mac looked at his feet, hopping around the cracks in the pavement, “you. I forgot my jacket and complained about being cold, so-”

“Yeah. That sounds about right.”

That was the kind of thing they’d been doing since the very beginning - one lighting fires so the other didn’t freeze, one getting frostbite so the other didn’t overheat. Even though he was older and calmer and more afraid, Dennis knew he’d still burn down a whole city if Mac needed him to.

It was no small comfort that he knew Mac would do the same.

He let Mac ramble on about various other times they’d almost been arrested, tuning him out and letting the distant sound of his voice comfort him. He was starting to suspect Mac’s definition of “walking distance” was very different from his own, and the cut on his foot was aching a little.

Slowing his pace, he walked closer to Mac, brushing their shoulders together. Mac went suddenly silent, cutting off in the middle of whatever he’d been saying.

“You good, man?” He asked, quiet.

“Yeah.”

Mac ran a gentle hand down his arm, “okay.”

Dennis breathed, letting his breath cloud in front of his face as he marched solidly onwards. He tried to ignore the fact that he had no idea how much further they had left to walk; asking Mac would only worry him, and, besides, he didn’t want to seem like an old man who couldn’t stand to walk a couple of miles in the cold.

“Promise it’s just around the corner, man.” Mac said, as though he could read Dennis’ mind.

“I’m fine.” He lied.

“Bullshit.” Mac said, but he slowed down to Dennis’ pace and craned his neck to look him in the eye, “we can get a taxi home.”

“Don’t need one.”

“It’s either that or I carry you, man.”

He was teasing now, grinning too widely; Dennis couldn’t help but laugh and flick his arm, “sure you will.”

They rounded the corner together, smiling at each other, and there it was: the restaurant. It barely stood out amongst the rows of still-open shops, all buzzing with the trickle of late night customers.

Dennis stopped in his tracks, pulling away from Mac and wrapping his arms around himself, looking away from the restaurant. He was suddenly nervous in a way he couldn’t explain.

Mac stood beside him for a long moment with his hands in his pockets, before he jerked his head a little and cleared his throat, “take as much time as you need, man.”

“Huh?” Dennis said, with as much indignation as he could muster, “I was waiting for you to go first!”

“Really? ‘Cos it looked like you were psyching yourself up or something.”

“Psyching mys- to go into a restaurant, Mac? You really think I need to do that?”

Mac raised his eyebrows and Dennis dropped his head in defeat. As usual, he’d seen right through him.

“It’s not like it’s a-” Mac swallowed his words until the right ones came out, “we don’t have to be-”

“I know.”

“So?”

“So… let’s just go in.”

The restaurant was, as Mac had predicted, almost completely empty; there were a few couples dotted here and there, but they were all wrapped up in their own little worlds, not a single one of them turning their heads as Mac and Dennis clattered through the doorway.

Dennis looked around. Something about the setting was hauntingly similar to Guigino’s, right down to the plastic flowers that adorned each table. He supposed there weren’t all that many aesthetics a mid-price Italian restaurant could adopt, but he still smiled at the familiarity of it all.

Coming back to himself, he realised Mac was tugging insistently at his jacket, trying to remove it from his shoulders, “dude,” he whined, “you need to take this thing off, otherwise it won’t protect you next time you go outside.”

“Calm down, man,” Dennis said. But he let Mac take his coat, avoiding his gaze as his hands brushed his arms.

He shook his head, knowing he needed to get a grip. If he carried on like this, he’d be letting Mac pull his chair out for him next.

“Table for two?”

A server had materialised out of nowhere, wearing the bright smile of someone accustomed to customer service; Dennis recognised it from years of bartending. 

He gritted his teeth, glancing at Mac. There was no way this situation didn’t look romantic; Mac still had Dennis’ coat draped over his arm, and he was hovering so close that Dennis could have reached out and taken his hand if he’d wanted to. He didn’t.

“Yeah, thanks.” Mac said, shooting a confused glance at Dennis - talking to servers was usually his job. Dennis just shrugged, suddenly feeling very lost.

Mac must’ve noticed his expression, because he tapped his shoulder gently, and far too quickly for anyone to see. “Relax.” He murmured.

The two of them were seated at a secluded table in the corner of the restaurant; it felt private, like a little oasis where the two of them could exist however they wanted. Dennis couldn’t help but smile a little at Mac as they sat down, catching a glimpse of his own nerves mirrored on his face.

“This is nice.” Mac said, tentatively, testing the waters.

“Yeah.”

Dennis didn’t know what to say. That was one thing he hadn’t anticipated - awkwardness. Usually, during these nights, conversation flowed almost too quickly, and they ended up talking loudly over each other, cutting each other off and veering from topic to topic at a breakneck speed.

He supposed it was easier to fill the silence with meaningless chatter when there was something you were trying to ignore. Now that almost all his secrets were out in the open, Dennis couldn’t think of a single thing to talk about. 

Mac still seemed to be putting up a valiant effort. “The flowers are…” he frowned, looking at them more closely, “red.”

“They are.”

“That’s good. For the ambiance, I mean.”

Dennis sighed, “listen, Mac…”

“I’m sorry this is so weird, man.”

If even Mac could realise a situation was weird, it must be bad. Dennis allowed himself a quiet laugh, “it  _ is  _ pretty weird.”

Mac fell silent for a moment, pretending to look at his menu and giving Dennis the chance to stare at him freely. It was odd, he thought, how two people could comfortably spend their entire lives together, but putting them on opposite ends of a table with a bunch of flowers between them could render them speechless.

He found himself longing for a booth, with an intensity that was almost like homesickness; things were always easier when he could secretly take Mac’s hand.

“Hey, man,” Dennis nudged Mac’s leg under the table, “what are you thinking about?” It was an overplayed line, but the best Dennis could do at such short notice.

Mac looked up, “spaghetti.” He said, entirely serious.

“You wanna see one of these waiters fall over again?” Dennis smiled.

“Dude, I wanna see that  _ so  _ badly. Remember that one time - when Dee tied that sucker’s shoelaces together?”

Dennis remembered, how could he not? He wondered how much more Mac remembered about that night, and whether he ever thought about the speech Dennis had made. Dennis thought about it all the time.

The conversation fizzled out again as Dennis forgot to respond, lost in his own thoughts. Mac didn’t seem to mind, though, he’d relaxed a little and was leaning his elbows on the table as he studied his menu, a small smile plastered on his face.

Dennis looked down at his own menu, realising he was about to begin his least favourite part of their monthly dinners: the food. He chose a salad at random, the one with the funniest name, before putting the menu back down and picking up the wine list.

“Most expensive bottle is a couple of hundred dollars, man.” He said, in mock-awe. He’d spent more on their dinners before, but it was always nice to pretend they were splashing out more than usual.

Mac scrunched his face up, “we should dine and dash, man.”

“Dine and dash? No, Mac, we should not do that! We’re on a classy night out and-”

“-about to pay $200 for a bottle of old juice? Dude, it doesn’t even taste good.”

“You just don’t have a refined palette like I do, Mac.”

Leaning further forward, Mac plucked the wine list from his hands, “dude, most of their bottles are like $20! That’s, like, what we sell them for at Paddy’s!”

“We deserve better than that cheap shit, Mac.”

That wasn’t strictly true. With all the junk he and Mac put in their bodies every day, Dennis wasn’t sure they were capable of handling good things anymore - but he had to believe that they were in order to remain sane.

“Whatever you say, man.”

They fell back into silence, a little more comfortable than before. It felt good to bicker, normal, even. Dennis wasn’t sure he’d ever had a night out with Mac in which they hadn’t gotten into some kind of fight or disagreement. He knew it was unhealthy, but the consistency of it made him feel safe - if all else failed, he’d still be able to argue with Mac over the ethics of dining and dashing.

Their server came and took their orders, and Dennis ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu; there was no way he way paying for it, of course, but Frank owed him one.

“Dennis,” Mac said after a while, kicking him under the table, “I forgot to tell you - I spoke to Frank.”

“Frank?”

Dennis tensed up almost immediately.

“Yeah, uh, turns out he caught the guy who smashed our window - it was one of his bridge friends, apparently Frank stole a bowling ball of ket from him, and-”

“Oh.”

There were questions Dennis wanted to ask. How did he know Frank wasn’t lying to appease him? How did he know  _ Mac  _ wasn’t lying to appease him? Why the fuck had Frank stolen a bowling ball of ket when he had enough money to supply himself with drugs for the rest of his sad, sorry life?

He tried to ask everything at once, but only managed to make a strangled sound, looking down at his hands.

“We thought it might be best if we open on Monday - give it a few days,” Mac said gently, leaning across the table. Dennis wondered who “we” was, imagining, for a second, that the gang had a groupchat they used to discuss him, “Frank said we can put the gay bar scheme up for arbitration if you want.”

Dennis snorted, “he didn’t say that.”

“Yes he did, dude! Okay, it was my  _ idea,  _ but he totally agreed and I only had to threaten him a little bit.”

It was a sweet sentiment, that Mac would give up something good for him - and that made something inside of Dennis twist a little. “Forget it, man. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Dennis knew he had to meet Mac’s eyes before he could continue their conversation. He lifted his head to catch Mac’s worried gaze; he looked a little ridiculous in the soft light of the restaurant, sharp angles thrown even sharper, hair slicked down tight to his head, arms bulging where he didn’t fit his polo shirt anymore. He was more like himself than Dennis had ever seen him.

“Yes.” Dennis said firmly, “it’s fine.”

Clearly sensing the conversation was going nowhere, Mac sat back, “just let me know what you wanna do, man. I’m with you no matter what.”

“Why? You like running a gay bar.”

“But I like you more.”

He wasn’t completely serious, mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile, and Dennis found himself laughing a little.

The mood shifted into something more familiar as the server brought their food out and they began to eat. It was suddenly easy to forget the events of the past few days, months, years, even, and fall back into old habits, arguing about stupid shit that they wouldn’t remember the next morning.

“All I’m saying, Dennis,” Mac grumbled through a mouthful of spaghetti, “is that, in Thundergun  _ Two-” _

“Oh, here we go again,” Dennis threw his hands up, “Thundergun Two this, Thundergun Two that - just admit it’s your favourite one because Dolph Lundgren looks sexy in it.”

“He  _ does.” _

“That isn’t how you should be judging movies, Mac!”

“That’s how  _ you  _ judge movies!”

Dennis rolled his eyes and took another bite of his salad, ignoring that Mac had made a valid point. There was no real heat to the argument, and it seemed Mac was biting back laughter more than he was insults; Dennis desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to just have some part of themselves connected, but people were starting to stare, their attention drawn by their raised voices.

Mac leaned his elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hands; his eyes were a little bleary, despite him only having had a couple glasses of wine. Dennis suspected the nap they’d taken earlier hadn’t been enough to completely rid him of his sleepless night.

“I’m having a good time.” He admitted. Okay, maybe he  _ was  _ slightly tipsy: the smile on his face was a little too wide, and his words were a little too careless to be those of a sober man, but Dennis’ heart still soared.

“Uh - me too, man.”

Mac grinned, “good. That’s good.”

They dipped into another silence before Dennis managed to say, “I missed this.”

“We went out to dinner last week, man.”

“I know, but-” But what? Dennis couldn’t really say what was special about their monthly dinners - maybe it was the routine of them, or the way they gave him a reason to get through another month, or the very simple fact that they gave him a chance to see Mac dressed up nicely every once in a while. All he knew was that they made him feel warm.

He put his fork down and chugged the last of his wine in a final attempt to ready himself for what he was about to do. 

Slowly, so slowly that even Mac must’ve seen it coming a mile off, he reached across the table and took Mac’s hand.

Even if Mac had noticed what Dennis was doing, he still seemed shocked; his eyes widened and he looked down at their hands, then up at Dennis, then back down, like he couldn’t quite make the mental connection as to what was happening. Dennis squeezed his hand and, coming to his senses, Mac squeezed back, practically sighing in relief with Dennis’ touch.

“Monthly dinner.” His voice was thin, like the words had struggled to find their way out.

Dennis paused before echoing, “monthly dinner, baby," then, letting go of his hand to pour them both another glass of wine.

-

They walked back home together in the dark, Dennis’ sore foot forgotten. He felt euphoric, tilting his head up to see the nonexistent stars and somehow feeling their warmth, burning millions of miles away.

“Stop staring at the sky and get inside, man,” Mac whined from the door, tugging at Dennis’ coat, “you’re gonna get sick.”

“I don’t  _ get  _ sick, Mac, my immune system-”

“-Dennis, I already know all about your immune system; come  _ on,  _ I wanna go in.”

Rolling his eyes, Dennis allowed himself to be tugged through the door and into the hallway of their apartment; a blast of hot air hit him and he smiled. He hadn’t noticed in his distress earlier, but the heating seemed to be working again.

“Shit, that’s warm,” he said, closing his eyes in near-reverence.

“Took them long enough.”

“Mhm.” Dennis was barely paying attention to Mac - he gravitated towards one of the heating vents, warming his hands on it and smiling, “nice, though,”

Nice wasn’t really the word to describe their apartment hallways; they were grimy and smelled of rat piss, with paint peeling from the walls and the carpet scuffed at the edges. Dennis still wouldn’t have had it any other way - it was his home, more than the mansion he’d grown up in had ever been.

“Let’s go up,” Mac said, nodding towards the stairs.

Dennis sighed, “sure.”

Upstairs was even warmer. Heat rises, Dennis knew that; heat rises and builds like anger rushing to your head. 

He wasn’t angry now, he was cool - he took his jacket off went to the kitchen for a beer, turning his back to Mac so he couldn’t see his smile.

“Get me one, man,” Mac called from the living room.

Dennis took two beers from the fridge, still smiling, “get your own, dick!” He said, but he opened Mac’s beer for him, walking over to the couch to put it in his hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Dennis hovered by the couch for a moment, shuffling his feet. Once again, he had no idea what to say - clenching and unclenching his jaw, like it would help him think.

“Hey,” Mac caught Dennis’ sleeve, pulling him down onto the couch, “can we talk about yesterday?”

He almost wanted to roll his eyes. Of course Mac wasn’t going to let him get out of it that easily - he’d always had a habit of getting to the bottom of what was bothering him.

Still, he was going to do his best to get out of spilling his guts if he could, “I thought we already talked about it?” He said, raising his eyebrows in a way he hoped made him seem indifferent.

Mac sighed, taking Dennis’ hand with a gentleness he knew he hadn’t earned, “I feel bad for leaving,” he admitted, “I should’ve stayed and made sure you were okay, man! You were hurt, you probably shouldn’t have even been driving-”

“Jesus, Mac! Enough, okay?” Dennis felt one final flame of anger flare up in him, “I don’t need to be coddled and babied all the time! I made my stupid decision and now I have to live with it. End of.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t-” He wanted to scream, to force the conversation into an argument, to turn the heat away from himself for a moment. But he was tired, and Mac’s eyes were suddenly unbearably sad, burning into him. He changed track, softening his tone, “don’t. It isn’t your fault.”

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I know, buddy.”

They fell into a mutual silence, and Dennis did his best to avoid Mac’s gaze. He looked wildly around the room, taking in the warm glow of their home.

He noticed he’d missed a shard of glass under the coffee table, but he didn’t move to pick it up. Maybe a little lurking danger was what they needed.

“Mac.” He said, eventually, “did it help?”

“Huh?”

“Coming out - did it help?”

Mac sucked in a breath, realising what they’d circled around to once again, as was inevitable, “I guess, but, dude, it’s not all at once - you don’t have to tell everyone in one go. Sometimes, it’s good to just have one person, or a few people, and-”

“You want to hear me say it, don’t you?”

Dennis could see right through Mac, as usual, his ulterior motives shining in his wide eyes. He forgave him for it, for once.

If anyone deserved to hear him say this, it was Mac. Maybe Dennis owed it to him. Maybe he didn’t, and he was just desperately searching for a reason to come out that didn’t hinge on the simple fact that he would die if he didn’t. Maybe Mac was the reason why he felt this way, and the universe had aligned perfectly so that he was the one that tore it from him.

“Okay.” Dennis said, steeling himself.

He opened his mouth, breathing in just enough to say the two syllables. But not a single sound escaped him. He tried again. Nothing.

Back in high school, Charlie had bet him a whole pack of cigarettes that he wasn’t brave enough to jump off the top of the bleachers. Dennis, being proud and heavily addicted to nicotine, had climbed up there immediately and stared down at the ground, twenty feet below.

He’d wanted to jump. He’d  _ tried  _ to jump. But, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to find the momentum within him - it was like some self-preservation instinct had set in. He’d been stuck there, hands glued to the harsh metal of the bars that stopped him from stumbling and falling.

In the end, he’d climbed down, and Charlie had made fun of him about it for a week.

He sometimes wondered if he would’ve done it if Mac had been stood below, promising to catch him.

Now, he had a chance to find out.

“I’m-” he tried again, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as the vertigo threatened to pull him under.

Once again, he couldn’t do it. Maybe a few years ago he would’ve been able to, but he’d ruined himself, gotten so used to pushing things down inside that he didn’t even have the capacity to let them out anymore.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried again and again. The words just wouldn’t come.

“Dennis, dude,” Mac leaned in closer, his breath tickling Dennis’ cheek, “only if you’re ready, man.”

“Mac, I-”

He knew Mac would be there to catch him no matter what - no matter if he was too heavy and crushed him on impact, or if he jumped without warning, or if he called him names as he plummeted. It was exhilarating, knowing he could fall from the tallest building and still walk away unscathed.

But it was also humiliating. Here he was, with Mac literally holding his hand, and he couldn’t manage to say two tiny words. Two tiny words rendered practically meaningless by the fact that both of them knew exactly what he was trying to say.

Mac had gone through all of this alone.

That knowledge - that feeling of weakness and of being less than, was what spurred him on to say what he said:

“I love you.”

The air seemed to thicken and the two of them took deep, simultaneous breaths.

“You-”

Mac looked at him with wide eyes, unmoving, and nerves began to ripple through Dennis’ stomach. Surely, he must’ve known? Dennis had practically been telling him every day for months. Every cup of tea he made, every smile he flashed his way, every time he reached out for him in the middle of the night. They were all love confessions, in their own way.

Dennis smiled at him weakly, expecting Mac to smile back, or kiss, or at the very least blink.

He didn’t. Instead, he sat silent, casting his eyes downwards.

The building panic began to drown him and he took a single, shuddering breath - maybe he’d misjudged everything and Mac hadn’t wanted his feelings to be reciprocated. What if Dennis had misread his signals and telling him he loved him had broken the spell? What if he’d ruined it?

“So?” He said, aware that his voice was an octave above its usual pitch, “you just gonna sit there?”

“I-” Mac gripped Dennis’ hand far too tightly and met his eyes, “yeah, uh-”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” Mac practically shouted, before composing himself and swallowing, “it’s just, uh, nobody’s ever… actually said that to me before.”

“Oh.”

The fear turned to sadness, like water to ice. It was a different kind of sadness to the type Dennis was used to, though - it was like someone had scooped out all that Mac was feeling and given it to Dennis to hold. He took it gladly.

“Mac,” he said softly.

“I knew you cared about me, man. But - but I didn’t think-”

“-what? Mac, of course I love you, Jesus Christ! You’ve been living with me for twenty years and not  _ once  _ have you paid rent. Why do you think I keep you around - for the view?”

Mac let out a watery laugh, “pretty much, man.”

“Well, turns out that’s not the only reason.”

It was hardly even a joke, but it still made Mac smile a little. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on Dennis’ shoulder, “I love you too.”

“Shit, man. Don’t get soft on me.”

Dennis felt almost hollow - he’d been building up to telling Mac he loved him for years, probably over half his lifetime, and now he’d done it he felt no different. Was this what coming out would feel like?

He let Mac’s hair tickle his cheek as he breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. It was a first for him as much as it was for Mac - he’d never told someone he loved them and meant it, not like this. Sure, he’d lied to people to get them off his back; and he’d told Dee he loved her, but she was different, she was his twin sister.

Here he was, at home, sat beside someone he loved. A single drop of condensation dripped from his beer onto his finger, and he remembered to take a sip of it before it got too warm. 

He pressed his face into Mac’s hair before pulling away, regretting it, “are you wearing two colognes?”

Mac paused, “yeah.”

“Hm.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“You smell fine without, Mac.”

That was a complete lie - Mac smelled like shit most of the time, but he didn’t need to know that.

-

Later that night, they were curled up in bed together. There was no reason for them to lie close anymore, with the heating fixed, but they were past excuses now. Dennis wrapped his arms around Mac, closing his eyes as he hid his face in the crook of his neck.

“Mac?” He said, quietly.

“Mm?”

A deep breath. A step. A plunge. “I’m gay.”

The words tumbled from him on the exhale, almost incoherent, and he felt Mac’s hands come up to press his back. 

“Okay.” Mac said, “love you.”

“You too.”

Dennis pulled away slightly, just enough to catch Mac’s eye; Mac smiled at him. He looked almost proud, and Dennis breathed in deeply through his nose, afraid he was going to burst into tears.

“It’s okay.” Mac said, pressing a gentle kiss to Dennis’ lips, so soft that Dennis barely felt it.

  
  


And, he was right. For the first time in his life, Dennis felt okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading + for sticking with me for so long (this is my first fic to ever surpass 50k... wow!) as always, i'm macdenniskiss on tumblr <3


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Closing his eyes, Dennis leant his head against Mac’s shoulder, wrapping his free arm around his waist, “are you really gonna kiss me like that then call me dude?”_   
_Mac let out a little laugh, before pressing a kiss into Dennis’ hair, “yeah.”_   
_“Asshole.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hope everyone's had a good few weeks <3 time for the penultimate chapter!
> 
> content warnings: 
> 
> * references to suicide (very mild)

Dennis awoke with a start.

He’d been having a dream - not quite sweet, but not quite been a nightmare either. In the dream, he’d been falling, spiralling downwards as the ground rushed towards him, threatening pain and bruises and broken bones. Even in the safety of his own bed, the image swam in his mind, making his breath catch in his chest.

Blinking a little, he came back to himself. The bedroom was illuminated by a watery sunlight that crept through the curtains, just strong enough to cast soft, comforting shadows. He wasn’t falling. He was at home, and Mac’s heavy arm was slung over him, keeping him grounded. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dennis?”

Mac’s voice was quiet and steady, and Dennis couldn’t help but unclench his jaw at the sound of it - he rolled over and smiled. There Mac was: solid, hair sticking up at all angles, and smile a little crooked from being squashed against a pillow. 

Before he could overthink it, Dennis pressed himself into the safety of his chest, closing his eyes and hoping Mac hadn’t noticed the way he’d jerked awake only moments earlier.

“Bad dream?”

Of course he’d noticed, he always did. Still, Dennis shook his head, feeling Mac tense a little beneath him. There was no need to get into it, though, not with the way the fear was melting off of him, like wax from a candle, afraid of Mac’s flame.

Mac’s hands found their way to his hair and petted at it nervously, as though he was scared Dennis was about to take back everything he’d said the night before. He was right to worry - there was a part of Dennis, pulsing somewhere behind his right eye, that was telling him to push Mac away, that there was no way this was going to end well, so he may as well spare himself the heartache before he dug himself any deeper.

But he’d listened to that part of himself for too long, the red hot fear that had controlled his every move for nearly forty years. He was ready to try something new. Something softer.

He pulled back, feeling Mac’s hands tighten in his hair. Before he could ask him what he was doing, or beg him to stay, Dennis tilted his head to plant a gentle kiss on his jaw, just beneath his right ear.

“Good morning.” The words came out a little shakier than he would have liked.

Mac smiled anyway, pretending not to notice, “good morning.”

How long had it been since they’d last woken up beside each other? Two days? Three? It felt like a lifetime.

Usually, when they hadn’t kissed or made some life-altering confession before bed, waking up was the most awkward part of their day. It was hard not to examine their situation as they lay there in silence, hands brushing a little too often, legs tangled in a way they swore came accidentally and naturally with sleep.

This particular morning was nice. This particular way of waking up, with a kiss and a smile, was something Dennis could get used to.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Mac asked, hands still combing their way through Dennis’ hair.

If Mac had been anyone else, Dennis would have snapped at him to stop, told him he was going make his scalp greasy. But his hands were warm and comforting, so he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“We need to pick up the dog.” He said.

“Mhm.”

“And,” Dennis paused, not quite believing what he was about to say, “I think I should talk to Dee.”

Mac was silent for a second, “she texted me yesterday, you know.”

“Really?”

That wasn’t like Dee. Usually, she let Dennis do his own thing, knowing when and how to intervene before he ended up in the emergency room. He supposed he'd looked pretty rough as he’d left her apartment yesterday, and he hadn’t spoken to her since. She must’ve assumed he’d driven into the river or something.

“What did she say?”

“Not much, just checking in.”

Dennis exhaled, “oh.”

Checking in. Checking they were both still alive, more like.

Mac cleared his throat, not meeting Dennis’ eyes, “we should probably get ready,” he said, “to go and get the dog - I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Something about the gentle, dim light of the room softened Mac. He looked younger, less sharp. Dennis felt a sudden urge to wrap his arms around him and stay in bed together forever - to keep them both safe from the outside world.

Instead, he said: “give me half an hour.” Before closing his eyes and pressing a quick, clumsy kiss to Mac’s lips, chest fluttering as Mac eagerly kissed him back.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

  
  


Ten minutes later, Mac crashed into the bathroom, juggling two cups of tea and a heavily-loaded plate of toast.

“Breakfast.” He explained, sheepishly, setting the mug down on the sink, followed by the plate.

Dennis scowled a little as he watched a small tube of lip balm topple over and clatter against the floor, noisy in the otherwise silent room. He turned his eyes to Mac, who smiled.

“Breakfast in the bathroom? Is that hygienic?”

Mac paused, “I didn’t burn the toast.”

He hadn’t. Dennis sighed, picking up a piece of toast and nibbling at it as he frowned at himself in the mirror, trying to decide whether his eyebrows were straight.

“Thanks.” He said, a little begrudgingly. 

Mac took his usual place on the bathtub, cradling his own steaming mug of tea in his hands; the way he was smiling made Dennis’ heart plummet, reminding him of his dream.

Mac had been smiling at him like that for as long as he could remember.

The first time Dennis had noticed it, really properly noticed, had been just after they’d bought the bar. It had been late, well past midnight, and the two of them had been alone in a booth, whispering and giggling and drunk out of their minds. Dennis had told a joke that wouldn’t have been funny sober and Mac had smiled so brightly that Dennis had had to grip the sticky table for support.

The first time the smile had actually scared him had been years later, after what would become their first ever monthly dinner. It hadn’t been set up by them - Dee had lured them to a restaurant, trying to solve some argument Dennis didn’t remember the root of. 

Mac had been tipsy, open, with a firmer grip on the closet door than he would have for years to come. And he’d been smiling. Smiling in the taxi, on the couch, at the kitchen table, in the bathroom mirror, in the bedroom, in the doorway as Dennis said goodnight, preparing to sleep in an empty bed for the first time in months.

They’d both pulled back after that.

But the worst time, the time when he knew the smile had him in deep trouble, had been on Valentine’s Day. February 14th, 2017. Dennis had opened that crate and out of it, as though it had been Pandora’s Box, had come the RPG, a lump in his throat, and that same deadly smile.

Dennis hadn’t known how to deal with it. Who could? Who could cope with being looked at like that, when they knew perfectly well they’d done nothing to deserve it?

He blamed that day for why he’d run when he did.

“Dennis?”

The smile had gone and Mac’s brows were knitted together a little; Dennis realised he’d been staring and he snapped his head back to look in the mirror, cheeks flushing red.

“Sorry,” he muttered, picking up his mascara wand, “sorry, man. You go get ready, I’ll be five more minutes.”

“‘Kay,” Mac put his mug down on the ground, where it would surely get knocked over in a matter of minutes, and stretched.

He took a few nervous steps forward and stopped just behind Dennis, so that the two of them were reflected in the bathroom mirror. Dennis huffed out a heavy breath, suddenly forgetting how to move his hands properly.

“You look really good, Den.” Mac said softly. And there was that smile again, blinding them both.

Dennis drew back a little, gripping the sink with one hand, “I-”

It wasn’t the compliment that had scared him - Mac was always complimenting him in one way or another. It had been the frankness of the statement, the way it fell easily from his lips, like honey, not as a means to get Dennis on his side, or aa a way to flatter him, but as a statement, an honest opinion.

“Sorry, I-” Mac was already backpedaling, stepping away from Dennis and holding his hands up, “was that too much?”

“No! No, I just-”

“-’cos I don’t wanna freak you out, man! I wasn’t thinking - I just thought “oh, he looks good!” And it kinda just slipped out, I-”

Dennis span around, facing Mac, “dude, calm down.”

Mac’s mouth snapped shut and he crossed his arms, looking down at his feet.

“Calm down,” Dennis said again, stepping forward and looping his arms loosely around Mac’s neck, drawing him in, “it’s fine.”

“I just wanna do things right, man.”

“You’re doing fine, Mac. Hey - you didn’t burn the toast!”

“I didn’t.”

Without thinking, Dennis kissed Mac. It was getting easier every time, with the dam broken, and he found himself enjoying it, melting against him like they were two halves of a whole, being welded back together.

Mac’s hands found his face, cupping it gently and pulling him in closer with a kind of desperation, like he couldn’t bear for there to be an inch of space between them. Dennis understood that; he wanted to be closer too.

With as much force as he could muster, he pushed against Mac, not really kissing him so much as embracing, pressing. Mac stumbled backwards a little and-

And he knocked over the tea.

Dennis jumped back as it soaked his socks, frowning at the brown puddle at his feet, sticky with the mounds of sugar Mac must’ve poured into it.

Everything froze. Dennis looked from the puddle, to Mac, and then back to the puddle again. It was as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the second cup to spill, the other shoe to drop, for that to be the thing that broke the delicate thread between them.

Then, out of some nervous energy, Mac let out a snort of laughter. Within moments they were both laughing hysterically, the tension that had been holding them in place all morning finally releasing.

“Holy shit, man.” Mac finally managed to say, snatching a nearby towel and throwing it over the puddle, “we’re terrible at this.”

“Yeah.” Dennis smiled, “terrible.”

-

The sun was high in the sky by the time Dennis pulled up outside the shelter. He and Mac had spent several painstaking hours combing the apartment for anything that might be dangerous for the dog.

Or, rather, Mac had combed the apartment. Dennis had sat at the kitchen table watching, pointing out where Mac had neglected to check. Somehow, Mac didn’t seem to mind; he smiled at every single one of Dennis’ annoying commands, stopping in the kitchen more often than he strictly needed to.

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?” Mac asked, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

“Uh-” Dennis realised, suddenly, that he had no idea what he was doing, “I guess we get her in the travel crate and hope she doesn’t freak out?”

Mac pouted, “why can’t she sit on my lap, dude? She’ll be  _ way  _ safer with me protecting her.”

“Uh-huh? Safe on the lap of the man who refuses to wear a seatbelt?”

“Seatbelts are bullshit, man! When have I ever actually needed one?”

“Mac!” Dennis tightened his grip on the steering wheel in frustration, “the only reason you haven’t died in a horrible accident is because I drive you everywhere!”

Mac sighed loudly, “whatever, man. We’ll put the dog in the cage. It’s fine.”

A heavy silence fell over them. Dennis looked down at his lap, breathing heavily; he didn’t want this moment to be soured by a petty argument.

“C’mon, buddy,” he said, “we can train her to sit on your lap another time - we don’t know how she’ll react to being in a car.”

“But, what if-”

“You could sit in the back with her? Make sure she feels safe?”

Mac went quiet, “okay.”

Dennis knew what that meant. It meant Mac was sulking, but wasn’t going to put up a fight - something about his drooping shoulders made Dennis’ heart twist, like he’d lost something. He reached out to take Mac’s hand, squeezing it in apology.

“You with me?”

Mac squeezed back, giving Dennis another one of his smiles, “yeah- yeah, I’m with you.”

Dennis nodded shortly and let go of Mac’s hand, fumbling with the car door for a second before slipping outside. He shivered as the cold Autumn air hit him, his lungs constricting a little.

Mac was by his side in an instant, tugging at his jacket, “you look chilly.” He said, almost accusingly.

“I’m okay.”

He wasn’t - his teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak, but he would never admit that. Instead, he drew closer to Mac, looping their arms together and sighing as he leeched his body heat.

“Jesus, man, you’re like an icicle.”

“If I was an icicle, I’d  _ want  _ to be cold.” Dennis retorted, gripping one of Mac’s hands.

“So you  _ are _ cold?”

“Shut up.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Mac’s mouth and he pulled Dennis in closer, “let’s go inside.”

They bundled into the shelter together, arm in arm; a blast of warm, inviting air hit them, leaving Dennis to sigh in relief.

Julia looked up at the sound. Somehow, she seemed to be hungover again, sipping at an energy drink and rubbing her temples.

“Heya.” She said, weakly.

Dennis nodded a silent hello and Mac beamed, tightening his grip on Dennis’ arm.

Their energy alone seemed to be too much for Julia to handle, “hang on,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes for a second. 

Dennis hung on. He let his eyes wander around the shelter, breathing shallowly as a foul stench hit his nose. In the back of his mind, he made a note to buy some good dog shampoo, just in case.

Pippin was sat in her cage, quiet as always, looking up at the two of them. There was something in her wide eyes like hope, or maybe excitement, that told Dennis she knew exactly what they were there to do.

Mac nudged him, obviously seeing the same thing, “she’s looking at you, bro.”

“She knows we’re here to take her home.”

Julia seemed to have composed herself a little, and now had a bright smile plastered on her face, false and reassuring, not unlike the cashiers that pretended not to hate Dennis at his local supermarket. He almost wanted to tell her to drop the act, that his sister had banged her sister, and that they were basically in-laws by this point. But he held his tongue.

“You already signed the paperwork, right? And paid?” She asked, sidestepping her desk and going to unlock Pippin’s cage.

“Yeah.”

“Nice.” She smiled again, before carefully cracking the cage door open.

Pippin trotted towards Mac and Dennis before plopping down at their feet, looking up at them expectantly. It was like she was the one in charge, glad that they’d finally caught up with her. “Come on, assholes,” she seemed to be saying, “get me home and away from these disgusting beasts.”

Dennis smiled, “I’m starting to think we wasted money on that leash.”

“Like I said, she used to be a therapy dog.” Julia crouched down to give Pippin’s ears a scratch, “I’ve never once seen her misbehave.”

As reassuring the idea of not having to train Pippin was, Dennis suddenly found himself a little sad.

What was a dog that didn’t misbehave and have fun? She deserved to be off chasing squirrels and destroying chew toys, and making so much noise that the neighbours complained. All of those things were annoying, sure, but Dennis realised he’d take the irritation if it meant she could be alive again.

“We’ll fix that.” He said, to nobody in particular.

Mac gave him a funny look, not following, “dude, if she’s this calm in the car, maybe she  _ could  _ sit on my lap?”

“Mac…”

“I’ll go in the backseat, man! And I’ll hold on tight, and I won’t even complain if you drive slow!”

He seemed really set on the idea. Dennis sighed, “only if she stays calm.”

The look of elation that passed Mac’s face made Dennis’ heart stutter. For a second, he thought he was going to pull him in and kiss him again. He didn’t. Instead, he inched closer, finding his hand and squeezing it gently in a wordless thanks.

“Ready to go?” Dennis asked, breathing in to try and steady his heart rate.

Julia frowned, like she was running through a mental checklist, “well,” she said, “you signed the paperwork, you paid the money; unless you want me to go into the back and print out an adoption certificate, you’re good!”

“We’re good.” Mac echoed, nudging Dennis eagerly.

“Yeah.” Dennis said, “we’re good.”

After saying their goodbyes to Julia, and promising they’d visit with Pippin sometime, they made their way back outside, breathing in the cold, fresh air.

“We should get her a little jacket.” Mac said wistfully.

“She has fur, Mac.”

“But wouldn’t it be cute?”

Dennis tried to picture Pippin in a jacket. It  _ would  _ be pretty cute, “as long as it’s tasteful. No dressing her up as another animal, or as a superhero, or any of that bullshit.”

“Dennis - you  _ know  _ how much taste I have. I’m gay. It’s impossible for me not to have taste.”

He was totally serious. Dennis couldn’t help but laugh a little, leaning into him, “whatever you say, man.”

Mac pouted a little, and bent down to pick Pippin up. Dennis winced, waiting for her to freak out and run away, or to bite Mac’s hand off. She stayed calm, though, climbing into his arms and wagging her tail as he lifted her off the ground.

“She’s cold.” He said, frowning and hugging her tighter.

“ _ I’m  _ cold.”

“You want me to pick you up, too?”

His eyes were sparkling and Dennis knew he wasn’t quite serious; still, he pressed in closer, trying to keep warm.

After a few moments, it became clear that Mac’s body heat wasn’t going to be enough to keep all three of them warm. In fact, it looked as though it was going to snow, despite it only being October.

“C’mon,” he pulled away, tugging at Mac’s sleeve, “let’s get in the car before we freeze to death.”

Mac let Dennis guide him to the car, going a little red as he opened his door for him. Dennis paused. 

Was that a romantic gesture? It was hard to tell what was and what wasn’t with them now - he hadn’t even thought about it, he’d just seen that Mac’s hands were full and had opened the door for him automatically, and now he was blushing.

Did the lack of intention make it less loving? Or more?

He gulped, “uh, why don’t you put the dog in the car, just to see how she reacts.”

Nodding, Mac gently put Pippin down on one of the seats. She stood there for a second, confused, before sniffing around.

“We should’ve cleaned the car as well.” Dennis said.

“Nah, man, she’s just excited about the new smells!”

It was easy to forget that Mac actually knew what he was talking about when it came down to dogs. Dennis studied his face, searching for a hint that he was lying, for a dark cloud that indicated they’d already fucked everything up.

But he carried on smiling serenely, leaning into Dennis’ arm.

“Is she okay?” Dennis asked.

“Yeah, man! Look at her tail!”

Pippin was wiggling around in what Dennis assumed to be excitement. He watched as Mac climbed into the car next to her, petting her and smiling brightly.

“Uh,” Dennis hovered where he was stood, unsure of what to do, “so, she’ll be alright, then?”

Mac looked up, eyes wide and soft, “stop worrying, man,” he said gently, “it’s fine.”

“But-”

“I’ll put my seatbelt on, if that helps?”

Dennis wanted to bite back that Mac should be wearing a seatbelt anyway, but he didn’t have it in him. The simple gesture, him going out of his way to alleviate Dennis’ worry, was enough to make tears prickle the corners of his eyes.

He blinked fast.

“That okay?” Mac asked, frowning.

Dennis turned away, slamming Mac’s door shut and opening his own door, climbing into the driver’s seat. When he knew Mac couldn’t see what he was doing, he dabbed at his eyes, knowing that any excuse he gave would just make Mac worry more.

He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror, checking that his makeup wasn’t too badly smudged. Then, his gaze fell on Mac, who was whispering soothingly to Pippin. He was wearing his seatbelt.

“Ready?”

Mac looked up and smiled, “ready.”

-

Dennis had never driven so slowly in his life. It ended up taking him three times as long to get back to the apartment, with him pausing every few minutes to make sure everything was okay in the back.

For all his care, he must’ve spent more time looking in the rear view mirror than at the road, feeling the nerves in his stomach dissipate whenever his and Mac’s eyes met.

“You gonna put her down, buddy?” Dennis asked, as he locked their apartment door.

Mac was walking slowly around the living room, bringing Pippin up to whatever caught her attention and letting her sniff it. It was probably some technique he’d been taught when he first brought Poppins home, but he looked so funny doing it that Dennis couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Dude, dogs get weird in a new environment, okay? When I was a kid, we moved house and Poppins went berserk - like, full on crazy.”

“But that was Poppins, Mac. This is Pippin. She’s well trained, remember?”

Mac sighed in defeat, “okay. Where should I put her?”

“Uh,” Dennis walked over to the coffee table, pushing it aside to create a clearing in the middle of the rug, “here?”

“Alright. Here she goes.”

He knelt on the floor and let Pippin down, careful not to jog her too much. The second her paws touched the rug, she froze, like she was unsure of what to do. After a few moments, however, she rolled onto her back, wagging her tail.

“She knows she’s home.” Mac said proudly.

“Yeah.”

Home. Once again, Dennis found himself on the verge of tears.

Taking a calming breath, he knelt down next to Mac, reaching over to stroke Pippin. She wiggled happily, rolling closer to him.

He didn’t need to turn his head to know Mac was staring at him; he could feel his gaze burning his cheek, making him flush and want to hide his face in his hands.

“What?” He asked.

Mac jumped, guilty, “nothing, I- I was just-”

Braving a glance at him, Dennis’ heart skipped a beat. He was sat close, hands knotted together nervously as he stammered through his excuses, face bright pink.

“Mac,” Dennis said, holding a hand out to calm him, “relax.”

Mac stopped talking and stared at Dennis, eyes still wide, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, man. Please.”

“Okay.”

They dipped into silence for a moment, stewing in the exchange. Dennis knew what Mac was afraid of - he was afraid of being too much, of going one step outside of Dennis’ comfort zone and pushing him back into the closet.

Dennis didn’t know how to explain that that wasn’t going to happen this time.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” He asked, flicking Mac’s arm gently.

Mac frowned, a little confused. Usually he was the one to suggest tea, “yeah, sure, I’ll just-” he trailed off, starting to get to his feet.

“No, I’ll do it.” Dennis grabbed Mac’s hand, pulling him back down beside him.

Mac looked more confused than ever now, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what kind of game Dennis was playing. Was it really that hard to believe he was trying to be nice? Probably.

Dennis gestured towards Pippin, “you keep an eye on her, man. I can do the tea.”

“You know how?” Mac asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, I know how, Mac! It’s just water, and a bag, and sugar-”

“-three spoonfuls for me.”

Dennis scowled at the interruption, “I know how you take your tea, Mac!”

“Then how do I take it?”

“Too sweet, too milky, and so weak I don’t like you should legally be allowed to call it tea.”

Mac smiled at his hands. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Now, keep an eye on the dog while I make you the best drink you’ve ever had in your life.”

Making tea was harder than Dennis remembered. There was a knack to opening the kettle that he hadn’t quite mastered, and he ended up smacking it against the sink to get the lid to release. Mac had pretended not to be watching, but it was obvious he found the entire situation hilarious.

And then, after all that, Dennis’ tea came out tasting like shit. He had no idea where he’d gone wrong - how was it possible to fuck up black tea?

He scowled to himself, handing Mac his mug and sitting down next to him, a little closer than was necessary.

Mac took a sip. “Perfect,” he smiled.

“C’mon, Mac, you don’t have to lie-”

“-lie? No, you got it all right, Dennis!”

Dennis looked down at his own mug. It looked murky, far darker than usual, “mine tastes like shit.”

“How much milk did you put in it?”

“Milk?”

“Bro, you always have milk in your tea - just a little bit.”

“Oh. I never realised.”

Mac had been making his tea for so long that he’d forgotten what he liked; if that wasn’t indicative of who they were and what they’d become, then Dennis didn’t know what was.

He’d just trusted Mac to do the right thing, drunk whatever he’d given him. For all he knew, he could’ve been poisoning him; it wouldn’t have been the first time.

Dennis put his mug down firmly, sighing a little. Sensing his mood, Pippin trotted up to him and put one of her paws on his leg, looking up at him with her big eyes.

“Aw,” Mac cooed, “she wants you to stroke her!”

“That’s sweet.” Dennis said, reaching down to pet her head. She wagged her tail, letting out a tiny yap.

This felt oddly familiar, like a recurring dream.

As a child, he’d been given a ghost of storybook domesticity: a mum, a dad, a sister, a dog, and a house. A mum who drank, a dad who hit, a sister who cried herself to sleep every night, a dog who bit, and a house he got lost in.

That was what he thought he deserved. He didn’t know how he’d gotten to where he was, on the floor of his little apartment, drinking tea with Mac and his dog. In that moment, there was no drinking or hitting or crying or biting. Nobody was lost.

As though proving his point, Mac reached over and swiped a gentle finger across his cheek, smiling at him with that tenderness that sent Dennis spiralling down.

“Eyelash.” He explained.

“Thanks.”

He wanted to remind Mac that he didn’t need an excuse to touch him anymore. The imaginary eyelashes, the lint that wasn’t really on his clothes, the muscles that weren’t as sore as either of them pretended.

Just once, he wanted Mac to touch him and smile and not have an explanation ready. He wanted him to touch him because he wanted to, and for no reason other that.

Dennis knew Mac’s defensiveness was his own fault - that he’d freaked out about being touched enough times that Mac had devised a way of helping him so he didn’t die of malnourishment while he was in the closet. Really, he should be thankful. He knew that.

Years ago, in Psychology class, he’d learned that you could need to be touched so badly that it starved you, that you were hungry for it. It had been such a bizarre concept to him at the time, that love could be nourishing, that holding someone’s hand was feeding them.

He understood it now.

Carefully, still petting Pippin with one hand, he curled into Mac, leaning his head on his shoulder. It wasn’t comfortable, especially given that Mac was shorter than him, but he hoped that it would get his point across.

It did. Mac reciprocated instantly, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close.

He could feel both of their hearts thrumming, beating in unsteady unison; Dennis wanted to calm them down, to breathe deep and put a comforting hand on Mac’s chest, but he wasn’t sure whether that would be a help or whether it would make things worse.

He sighed.

They sat there together for a long while, both waiting for the other to break the silence. Neither of them did, but Dennis wasn’t afraid; this wasn’t like the poisonous quiet that would sometimes infect them both, where they knew that the next sentence would be devastating.

He was halfway to falling asleep when his phone rang, buzzing in his pocket; the sound of it made his heart leap, like it was the bad news he’d been waiting for, the twist that would bring this all crumbling down.

“You gonna answer that?” Mac asked, equally as nervous.

“Yeah, I-” Dennis fished his phone out to look at who was calling, “it’s Dee.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

He stared at the phone for a few more moments before answering it, gripping Mac tightly.

“What do you want?”

“Good afternoon to you too, dick.”

Something about Dee’s voice calmed his nerves instantly. She sounded normal, if a little pissed off; Dennis relaxed, pulling back to roll his eyes at Mac.

“Why are you calling me?”

Dee sighed on the other end, “Dennis, you left my apartment looking like total shit, then didn’t even  _ text _ . I thought you’d offed yourself.”

“I was never going to “off myself,” Dee, that’s absurd,” Dennis scoffed, earning a confused look from Mac.

He knew it wasn’t fair of him to be so hard on her, not when she was the reason why he’d lived as long as he had; still, the genuine worry that clouded her voice made his stomach twist.

“Dee?” He said, realising she’d gone silent.

She took in a deep, audible breath, “I’m coming over.”

“Okay, but you should probably know that we have a-”

Dee hung up, leaving Dennis to frown at his phone.

“-dog.” He muttered, finishing his sentence out of some stubborn instinct.

“She’s coming over?” Mac asked, like he hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Good job we cleaned up, huh?”

Dennis smiled, remembering the amount of time she’d spent shouting at them for making a mess back when they’d been living together. He almost missed it.

“Yeah.” He said, once again.

Dee arrived half an hour later with a coffee and a scowl. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, like she hadn’t been the one who’d invited herself over.

“What’s that?” She said, wrinkling her nose at Pippin, who had curled up next to Mac on the couch.

“That’s, uh-” Dennis was suddenly defensive, “that’s our dog.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Mac glared at her, covering Pippin’s ears, “ _ you’re  _ gross.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Mac and Dee’s relationship had been surprising him in these past few years - they’d gotten close while he was away, still fighting, but with less genuine hatred and heat. It made him happy, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

“Dennis.” Dee said briskly, “can we talk?”

Blunt. Straight to the point. Dennis nodded, gesturing towards Mac’s bedroom, “sure.”

They left Mac in the living room, watching their retreating figures with sad eyes. Dennis almost wanted to tell Dee that whatever she had to say to him could be said out in the open, but a part of him knew that was a lie. There were some things Mac just wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Holy shit,” Dee said, the second Dennis shut the door and turned the lights on, casting the room into stark shadows.

Holy shit was right. Dennis hadn’t taken a proper look around the room since Mac had gotten rid of his bed, but now he wished he’d kicked up more of a fuss about it; the workout gear Frank and Charlie had brought over was rusted and sharp, an accident waiting to happen, and a thick, musty smell seemed to have permeated the air.

“It’s-” Dennis almost wanted to turn the light back off, “it’s a work in progress.”

“I can see that.”

They stood in shocked silence for another few moments before Dennis cleared his throat, “why are you here?”

“Why? I was worried about you, asshole! I thought you’d done something stupid like- like adopting a dog!”

“We’ve actually been planning that for-”

“Dennis. You don’t even  _ like  _ dogs.”

Dennis looked down at his feet, “I like this dog. You’d like her too if you gave her a chance.”

“Don’t you remember mum’s dog?”

“Dee, that was twenty years ago,” Dennis sighed, “we need to let go.”

Dee grumbled but relented, stepping further into the room. She ran her hand over a set of weights, testing them with one hand to see how heavy they were.

“So,” she kept her back to Dennis, “you and Mac… you sorted things out?”

“Yeah, we-”

“No details!” Dee span around, holding up her hands, “please, Dennis. I already know  _ way  _ too much.”

Dennis scowled, “I was gonna say we went out for dinner last night.”

“Still gross.”

The conversation stuttered to a halt, with Dee wandering around the room and fiddling with the exercise equipment, wiping her hands on her trousers every so often.

Was that it? Was it that easy? Had forty years of repression and refusing to talk about their feelings suddenly ended with a conversation in a home gym?

Dennis cleared his throat again, shuffling his feet, “uh, is that all you had to say?”

“What? You want a medal or something?”

“You’re the one that came all the way over here!”

Dee went silent for a moment, leaning against the wall with a huff. She looked tired, Dennis realised, far more tired than usual.

“I-”

“You really were worried about me, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Her tone was sharp, but she was smiling a little, less tense than before.

“Come on,” Dennis said, “let’s get out of here before we catch something. I’ll introduce you to Pippin.”

-

The rest of the day passed without incident. Dee went home after a couple of hours, deciding that Pippin maybe wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought.

They ate a quiet dinner together and got Pippin settled in her bed, which they’d decided to keep in the living room, just for the time being.

The sun had set a little while ago, and Dennis’ eyes were heavy. He leaned against the bathroom door, arms crossed, trying to stop himself from grinning as he watched Mac brush his teeth. 

He hadn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in humming and watching himself in the mirror to sense Dennis’ presence.

“Hey.”

Mac jumped a mile in the air, spinning around with wide eyes. He looked ridiculous. Dennis couldn’t help but laugh, smiling apologetically.

Frowning, Mac spat his toothpaste out and threw his toothbrush down on the sink, “how did you sneak up on me, man?”

“Catlike stealth.”

“Uh-huh.” Mac closed the space between them, so he was only inches away from Dennis, “that must be it.”

Carefully, like he was still afraid of the consequences, Mac put his hands on Dennis’ hips. Dennis sighed. It never got any easier - he’d been letting Mac touch him like this for months, intimately, gently, but it still made him giddy. He leant back against the wall for support, sucking in a deep breath.

“Good day, huh?” He said, shakily.

“Yeah.” 

Mac was grinning, face so close that Dennis could smell the mint from his toothpaste; it was overpowering. He wrinkled his nose a little.

A shadow crossed Mac’s face, “you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m-”

“-can I kiss you?”

Dennis’ heart stuttered in his chest.  _ Of course,  _ he wanted to say,  _ of course, dumbass! _

But his throat wasn’t working - he nodded vigorously, straining his neck forward to meet Mac in the middle.

Kissing, he’d come to find, was easier than talking. It terrified him, of course, but in the way a rollercoaster did, or a scary movie.

He brought his hands up to cup Mac’s face, scrambling to pull him deeper into the kiss - his heart was hammering like a death omen in his chest, but, in that moment, he didn’t care. he just needed Mac closer.

Mac was practically grinning into the kiss, pressing Dennis gently against the doorframe. Dennis was glad for it, something within him was sure that his knees would have buckled without it holding him up.

He realised, suddenly, that his breath was coming out in short, sharp bursts, and he turned his head away, panting a little.

“Den,” Mac said gently, catching one of his hands and squeezing it, “you’re shaking dude.”

He was right. Dennis was shaking.

Closing his eyes, Dennis leant his head against Mac’s shoulder, wrapping his free arm around his waist, “are you really gonna kiss me like that then call me dude?”

Mac let out a little laugh, before pressing a kiss into Dennis’ hair, “yeah.”

“Asshole.”

“Dick.”

“ _ You’re  _ a dick!”

It all felt so painfully normal, like their regular evenings had been replicated, exactly the same except bathed in a honey-gold light. This was what had been missing; throughout all of their movie nights, and bedtime routines, and time spent in comfortable silence, this was what they had needed.

The silence found them again, giving Dennis more space to focus on Mac’s warm body against his.

He’d always been afraid of the quiet, for as long as he could remember: he’d never liked the way it pressed in on him, making his ears buzz and his brain whisper. When he was alone, he’d always crank music up as loud as he could and sing along before he could start talking himself into a corner.

He wasn’t afraid of that anymore.

“I love you.” Mac sighed.

“You’ve told me before,” Dennis smiled, before pausing, “love you too.”

-

They reopened the bar a week later.

There had been an entire week of negotiations, days spent sat in Dee’s apartment, arguing about their needs and wants and demands. Everyone’s main request had been for Frank to remove the bright lights above the bar, complaining they were too hot, and threw off the ambiance.

The entire time, Dennis could feel the rest of the gang holding their breath. It was like they were walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to ask for them to take down the rainbow flags, or to stop adding the epithet “the hottest gay bar in Philadelphia,” to every pamphlet they handed out.

For the most part, he kept his mouth shut. Sometimes, he’d find Mac’s hand under the table and squeeze it while the rest of the gang were shouting about shot glasses and napkins, but that was all. He spent most of his time in a daze, unable to believe what was happening.

  
  


So, the only real change he noticed as he stood at his usual spot behind the bar, cleaning up a spilled drink with a dirty rag, was the lack of heat beating down on him. He was thankful for it, only realising then how much pressure the bright lights had put on him.

“Hey, man, you good?” Charlie asked, dropping a mop and bucket at his feet, sloshing water everywhere.

Dennis jumped backwards, swearing, “I was until you  _ splashed  _ me!”

On a worse day, that would have been enough to make him blow up and ruin everything. Maybe a week ago he would’ve upended the bucket and stormed off, leaving Paddy’s without a bartender for the night. 

He was calm now, though, and took a deep breath. Charlie rolled his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I meant, man.”

There was something about Charlie that brought honesty out in Dennis, more so than any other member of the gang. Maybe it was because he knew he wouldn’t judge him for anything, or maybe it was the knowledge that he didn’t remember half of their conversations anymore.

He sighed, “I’m good.”

“Good.”

Charlie paused, like he was waiting for Dennis to say something further. When he didn’t, he leaned against the bar and said:

“You’ve been acting, like, weird recently.”

Mac and Dennis hadn’t told the gang that they were together, not officially. Dee already knew, of course, but she kept quiet about it, understanding they needed time.

It was useless to pretend that he didn’t care what the gang thought, of course he did; he’d been having nightmares about how Frank would react to him coming out since he was sixteen. But their hypothetical reactions weren’t what scared him the most.

What scared him the most was the finality of it, the way it was an irreversible change, a final step. Once he was out, he was out, and he was going to have to deal with the consequences - he didn’t have the guts nor the lack of self awareness that Mac did, that would allow him to go back into the closet.

So, Mac had agreed to carry on sneaking around for a little while, not caring whether they kissed in secret or out in the open, as long as he was allowed to kiss him.

Coming back to himself, Dennis shook his head, “you don’t even know, man.”

Charlie nodded, “I don’t. That’s why I brought it up.”

“Don’t worry about it - it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Charlie didn’t sound concerned, as though he already knew what had been bothering Dennis. He probably did. He always knew more than he let on, “well, I’m glad you’re good now.”

“Yeah.”

Dennis snuck a glance at Mac. He was stood by the door, talking animatedly to a small group, who seemed to be egging him on as he demonstrated clumsy spinning kicks. It was impossible for Dennis not to smile at the sight, and he turned his face away from Charlie.

“I mean it, Dennis,” he said, speaking slowly, “I’m happy for you.”

“Th-thanks, man.”

Charlie mumbled something about a spillage in the bathroom, before dragging his mop and bucket away, head tilted downwards.

Leaning against the bar, Dennis relished in the quiet; they were still busy by their standards, with new clusters of regulars hovering around, but it was peaceful compared to the last time they’d been open.

Pippin was napping beneath the pool table, legs twitching a little in her sleep; Dennis stared at her, wondering what she could be dreaming about. She looked happy. He liked that.

Turning his eyes back to Mac, he realised he was staring at him. “Come here,” he mouthed, tapping his fingers against the bar.

Mac walked over, shoving his hands into his pockets in a way that must’ve been some kind of attempt to seem casual. There was no need for it, really, with Charlie in the bathroom, Frank in the back office, and Dee getting wasted in a booth, but it was sweet nonetheless.

“Everything okay?” Mac asked, which was his new way of saying hello.

“Yeah.”

For once, Dennis wasn’t lying - everything  _ was  _ okay. Somehow, nothing had gone wrong all week; there had been no major arguments or fights, neither of them had suddenly decided to run away. He’d begun to relax a little and stop fearing the inevitable breakdown.

“Do you want a beer?” He asked.

“Sure,” Mac sat down on one of the stools, looking at Dennis with his wide eyes.

Dennis almost wanted to tell him that he had to stop looking at him like that - that he’d give them away with his eyes alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It made him feel warm. Besides, he was trying not to discourage spontaneous affection from Mac whenever he could.

“Here,” he poured the beer into one of their nicer glasses and handed it to him, letting their fingers brush.

Mac smiled at him, dizzyingly, “thanks, Dennis.”

He put his hand down on the bar, open and upwards and ready for Dennis to take, as was his habit.

They’d fallen into a few habits over the past week, growing back into old ones and creating new ones, just for the sake of it.

His favourite by far was going for walks. They kind of had to, now that they had Pippin, but Dennis had started to look forward to them, to push to explore further and farther - it was nice, sometimes, to travel without a destination. The city air wasn’t exactly good for clearing his head, but he’d still begun to feel better for it.

“We should probably take a break soon,” he said quietly, “Pippin will want to stretch her legs.”

Mac glanced over at Pippin, who was still fast asleep, “sure.” 

Dennis scanned the bar to make sure nobody was looking, and that Frank and Charlie were still out of sight, before reaching out to take Mac’s hand. It was warm, and, Dennis noticed with distaste, a little dry, like he hadn’t been using the hand cream he’d given him.

“You know,” Mac said, leaning in a little closer, “nobody’s around - we could probably take off right now if you wanted.”

Dennis sighed, “and risk Frank docking our paycheque again?”

Frank had been on a bit of a warpath. He was determined to work the bar properly for at least a little longer, in order to make up for lost time. Honestly, Dennis didn’t see what the big deal was - they’d never made much money from Paddy’s in the first place.

“I’m just so  _ bored,  _ Dennis.”

“I know, man, I know,” Dennis squeezed his hand a little tighter, “Frank’ll give up this shit in a few days, though. You’ll see.”

“I know.”

Mac’s shoulders slumped and he leaned against the bar morosely, looking so sad that Dennis had to hold back the urge to grab him and kiss him.

“Hey,” he said, “why don’t you ask about a break. Tell him it’s for the dog.”

A smile lit up Mac’s face, “okay!”

Dennis returned the smile, not dropping it even when Mac turned around and left to slip into the back office. He still felt warm.

Realising Mac had only drunk a little of his beer, he picked it up and took a sip, thinking it was perhaps the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. 

Just then, a man approached him. “Hey.” He said, opening his wallet, “rum and coke, please.”

He was handsome, Dennis couldn’t deny that, with a strong jaw and kind eyes that seemed to stare straight through him. Gulping, he smiled.

“Sure. Five dollars.”

“Here.”

The man handed him a twenty dollar bill, and Dennis didn’t even scowl at him, even though he knew they were running low on change.

“Thanks.”

Casually, like he didn’t even sense Dennis’ nerves, the stranger leaned against the bar, “so,” he said, “what time do you close?”

Dennis knew what that question meant. What time do you close? What time do you get off? How long do I have to wait for you? He’d used the very same line on hundreds of bartenders in the past, all with varying levels of success.

He paused and glanced at the back office. Mac wasn’t around to swoop in and save him or stop him; he was completely alone, unsupervised. He had to make his own decision.

“I, uh-” he slid the man’s drink across the bar alongside his change, “I actually have a boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

Something about the man’s raised eyebrows sent Dennis’ heart skittering up into his mouth, sitting on his tongue and making it hard to talk, “yeah, so, uh, sorry.”

“That’s… okay?” The man leaned further forward, “but, like, what time do you close? You don’t have a website or anything.”

“Oh, uh, shit-” he’d made a horrible misjudgement, “last order is midnight.”

“Thanks.”

It was only as the man turned to leave, seemingly completely unbothered by the exchange, that Dennis realised what he’d done.

That had been the first time he’d called Mac his boyfriend.

He blushed furiously, grabbing a glass and scrubbing at it with a rag, trying hard not to let his mind wander. It wasn’t a strange thing for him to have said - Mac was, technically, his boyfriend, and he was sure he would have said the exact same thing had their situations been reversed.

Still, it sent a jolt of fear through him, like he’d narrowly missed getting into a traffic accident, or been jumpscared by a shitty movie.

The door to the back office opened and Mac strode out, looking proud. Dennis smiled, knowing that it meant he’d been successful.

“We have ten minutes,” he said when he reached Dennis, rapping his knuckles on the bar.

“Thanks, man.”

Dennis glanced at Pippin, who was still fast asleep under the pool table. It seemed almost cruel to wake her - she looked peaceful, curled up in a little ball of fluff.

Mac understood, as always, “c’mon,” he said gently, nodding towards the door, “let’s just go around the block.”

They left the bar together. Dennis barely glanced behind him when Dee called out after them, asking where they thought they were going - that was a problem for ten minutes from now.

Outside, Dennis shivered. It was a cool, clear night, with stars twinkling up above them, somehow cutting through the thick polluted sky. There was something fresh on the air, sweet and dry, that made Dennis want to close his eyes and open his arms.

“You good?” Mac asked, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Dennis curled into Mac, letting their shadows become one against the red brick walls of Paddy’s.

They started walking and Dennis tried to match Mac’s gait. He knew Mac was walking slower so Dennis wouldn’t get too out of breath, and that knowledge made him want to press even closer.

Mac huffed, his breath coming out in a crisp, white cloud, “you know, I was thinking-”

“-really? That’s surprising.”

“Asshole!” Mac poked him in the side, “I was gonna tell you my genius plan!”

Laughing, Dennis batted Mac’s hand away. He’d gotten bolder this past week, more like his old self, more willing to talk back to Dennis now that he wasn’t so afraid he’d leave him again.

“Tell me this genius plan, then.”

“No.”

"Please?"

"No!" Mac laughed, "not if you're gonna be a dick, man!"

Dennis stopped walking and tugged at Mac's arm. When Mac turned to him, brow furrowed and mouth opening with the beginnings of a questions, he took his face in his hands and pulled him in.

“Mac,” he said, enjoying the way his face was heating beneath his fingertips, “tell me.”

Mac sucked a deep breath in, “it’s stupid, man, it’s not a real plan- I was joking!”

“I wanna hear.”

“I was thinking… we could pick up takeout on the way home.”

Dennis smiled, “sounds like a plan to me.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mac’s lips, soft and gentle and with the knowledge they only had a few minutes. Even after a week, it still set his heart stuttering and made the world tilt just a little - he knew he’d get used to it in time, but he almost hoped he wouldn’t.

Mac pulled away, “your hands are cold.” He complained, as though he wasn’t blushing enough to keep them both warm for hours.

Still, Dennis stepped away, shoving his hands into his pockets. Mac pulled his phone out, presumably to check the time, and sighed.

“We should be getting back.”

Dennis didn’t want to go back to the bar. He wanted to stay out in the cold forever, bathed in the golden glow of the streetlights; he wanted to run away again, not out of fear, but out of the simple need to chase the feeling coursing through him.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Mac smiled, putting a hand on his elbow, “we close soon,” he soothed, “then we can go home.”

“Will you sit at the bar with me?”

That was the closest he’d get to admitting he missed Mac when he wasn’t near enough to touch him, that the further away he stood the deeper the chasm in his chest grew. It probably wasn’t healthy to miss someone the second they turned their back to you, but Dennis didn’t care.

Mac laughed, “I wouldn’t want to sit anywhere else, man.”

That was the closest Mac would get to admitting he felt the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all for sticking with me so long! <3 see u for the final chapter in 2 weeks :')


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was funny how quickly they’d fallen into their new life. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 final chapter... we made it! this is more of an epilogue, but i rly hope u all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it
> 
> **content warnings**
> 
> * references to disordered eating 
> 
> * references to past child abuse (mild / nondescriptive) 
> 
> * discussions about mental illness

**November**

The novelty of taking Pippin on walks wore off fast. It wasn’t a real chore, not like doing the dishes or sweeping crumbs under the rug, but it also wasn’t something Dennis would have done every day if he’d had a choice.

He never complained, of course. What was there to complain about? All he had to do was hold Mac’s hand and let his feet take him where he was pulled.

Sometimes, however, he had to let his displeasure be known.

Because, sometimes, it rained.

“Goddamn it, Mac!” He yelled, struggling to be heard over the sound of water cascading down the gutters, “I told you we should have brought an umbrella!”

“It was sunny when we left, bro!”

The two of them were stood in the middle of the street, drenched, shouting at each other. Mac had taken his jacket off and was using it to shelter Pippin, who was tucked happily under his arm, seemingly completely unaffected by the situation.

Dennis found himself close to tears. The storm had hit at the worst time possible, when they were miles from anywhere. Amidst the sheets of rain, he didn’t even recognise the street they were on; everything was plunged into a blurred darkness, like he’d just woken up and hadn’t quite managed to blink away sleep yet.

Mac took a slow step forward, sensing Dennis’ distress, “hey, man.”

“Don’t-”

“C’mon,” he said, offering Dennis his free hand, “it’ll let up soon.”

“Will it?”

In that moment, Dennis was afraid it was going to rain forever and ever, that the two of them were going to be stuck there, stood opposite each other, until they drowned, or lay down on the floor and gave up. He was gripped with a sudden panic, his throat suddenly feeling tight and wet.

“Will it?” He repeated, his voice rising in pitch.

“It will.” Mac said, “but, dude, we’re in the middle of Philly! There’s bound to be a coffee shop or a bar we can hide in nearby.”

“I don’t know-”

“Dennis.”

Mac was so close now that Dennis could see his face properly; his hair was laid flat against his head, not neat like usual, but uneven and tousled. Dennis felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and fix it.

He breathed in, “okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go, then.” Mac said, smiling.

A couple of months ago, Dennis wouldn’t have given in so easily. He would’ve stood there and accepted his fate, or stormed off and left Mac to find his own way home, ignoring the fact that Mac had a better sense of direction than him.

But Dennis had been trying, he  _ was  _ trying. So, instead of pushing or pulling, he took Mac’s hand and looked him in the eye, waiting for him to make the first move, practically begging him to get them out of there. Mac smiled, mouth crooked in that way it always was when he knew everything was going to be okay.

They hurried through the rain together, so fast that Dennis soon found his heart pounding in his throat, threatening to choke him. There was blood beating in his ears, thick and blinding, but it didn’t matter, not with Mac’s hand in his.

A strange exhilaration overtook him and he laughed out loud, closing his eyes against the rain. 

“Careful,” Mac said, slowing down to steady him “careful, man.”

Dennis laughed again, “yeah.”

Mac frowned at him like he’d gone mad and held onto him for a moment, letting the rain press down on them. He swayed a little, meeting Dennis’ eyes and peering into them; Dennis couldn’t bear the expression on his face, so he kissed him.

He leaned forward and brushed their lips together, only connecting with him for a second before he jumped back in surprise. He was ice cold.

“Mac-” He was shivering. Dennis hadn’t noticed that before.

“Don’t worry,” Mac mumbled, “don’t worry about me.”

“Come here.”

Dennis took the jacket from Mac’s arm, exposing Pippin to the rain for a moment; Mac began to protest, but, before he could, Dennis unzipped his own jacket and tucked her inside, clutching her close to his chest.

“Now, put it back on before you die, dude.”

Mac pouted, but did as he was told, slipping the jacket over his shoulders.

“Better?” Dennis asked.

“Better.”

They shared a smile, and Dennis reached into his jacket to scratch absently at Pippin’s ears. The rain seemed to have let up a little, making it easier for him to get his bearings; they were on a familiar street, no more than ten minutes from home.

“I think there’s a coffee shop around the corner.” He said.

“Oh, thank God.”

Wordlessly, Dennis took his hand and tugged him in the right direction, feeling Mac come with him easily.

“You sure you know where you’re going?”

Dennis rolled his eyes, “yes, I know where I’m going,  _ Mac.” _

“Because, remember last week, when-”

“I remember!” Dennis snapped, giving Mac’s hand a sharp squeeze, “just trust me.”

“Okay, Den.”

It only took them a few minutes to get to the coffee shop, much to Dennis’ relief.

When he spotted it, he began to sprint, letting go of Mac’s hand to hold Pippin steady against him, feeling her wiggle in excitement.

Mac nearly crashed into the back of him when he stopped by the window, sheltered beneath the awning. It felt weird to be safe from the rain - Dennis had gotten so used to it pelting down on him he wasn’t sure what to do with himself in its absence; one look at Mac told him he felt the same way.

“Jesus Christ.” Dennis said, laughing a little.

“We made it.”

“Yeah, we did.”

After catching his breath, Mac opened the cafe door and Dennis stepped inside, not caring that he was dripping all over their pristine floors. One of the baristas gave him a dirty look, but he couldn’t be sure of whether it was because he was wet, or because of Pippin, or because of the amount of times he’d caused a scene over lukewarm coffee. He didn’t give a shit.

“Do you wanna get a table? I’ll order.” Mac said, nudging him. He obviously also remembered the trouble Dennis had gotten them into in the past.

“Sure, you got money?”

Mac had always been terrible with money, but he’d gotten a lot worse in the past month. It was like being a couple had been the last straw that had pushed him into being totally comfortable with his and Dennis’ shared income; he barely ever took his wallet anywhere anymore, opting instead to use Dennis’ card whenever he needed to get something.

Today was no different. He pawed at Dennis’ jacket, “gimmie ten dollars.”

“Fine. Hang on, asshole.”

Dennis unzipped his jacket and let Pippin down on the floor, watching proudly as she made a mess in the puddle and and Mac had created. Then, he yanked out his wallet and handed it to Mac, holding on for a moment longer than was necessary.

“You want your usual?” Mac asked.

“Obviously,” Dennis said, giving Mac’s arm a gentle pat before picking Pippin up and trudging off to find a table.

He ended up in their usual booth in the corner. It was a little greasy, and Dennis found himself wrinkling his nose as he sat down, resolving to change his jeans when he got home.

Pippin seemed less bothered. She wagged her tail as Dennis sat her on his lap, stroking her in the hopes that she would warm his hands up a little. She was somehow almost completely dry.

“You don’t know how easy you have it, huh?” Dennis grumbled, patting her head. She panted in response.

As frustrated as he was with the way everything had gone down, Dennis couldn’t shake how comfortingly normal everything was. Getting caught in the rain while walking his dog - that was a normal problem, the kind of thing he hadn’t run into for a long time.

He smiled at himself, looking down at Pippin. It wasn’t all bad.

“Hey, man,” Mac said, slipping into the booth beside him, “they said they’d bring the drinks to us.”

“Nice.”

Mac rested a gentle hand on the back of Dennis’ neck, tangling his fingers through his wet curls, “you’re not too cold?”

Dennis knew he should be the one asking Mac that question - he was still shivering a little, soaked through. Still, he closed his eyes and leaned into Mac’s touch, “nah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mac,” Dennis opened his eyes, “are you trying to say that  _ you’re  _ cold?”

Mac looked down, “kinda.”

Dennis laughed, not unkindly. Carefully, he picked Pippin up and put her on Mac’s lap; as usual, the second her paws touched his leg, she curled up and went to sleep, head resting on Mac’s knee.

“She’s like a little hot water bottle.” Dennis said, fondly.

“Thanks, Dennis.”

It was a small gesture, but Mac sounded genuinely touched by it, like Dennis had given him a great gift. It made his heart both light and heavy at the same time, a balloon struggling to lift off the ground.

He cleared his throat, “wanna use this as an excuse to ditch work?”

“We ditched last week.” Mac reminded him.

“It was an emergency!”

“Was it?”

Their “emergency” had been that they hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, which, in fairness, was a perfectly valid reason to not go to work.

Still, Dennis didn’t want the gang accusing him and Mac of messing up the group dynamic. They’d come clean about their relationship a couple of weeks ago, and had been trying to establish that nothing was going to change; it was a little tricky, when Dennis wanted nothing more than to be in Mac’s arms every hour of the day.

“Fine.” He said, sighing, “we’ll go in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mac leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his temple, “good.”

**December **

It was shaping up to be a shitty Christmas.

Not that every Christmas wasn’t shitty. There was something about it, about the festive cheer and warm atmosphere around the month of December, that made Dennis feel utterly alone, like he was the only person in the entire city who was unhappy.

Every year, he was bombarded with adverts and movies and music, all screaming at him to be joyful, telling him that anyone who could possibly be sad with a Christmas tree in their living room was a deeply hollow and broken person.

Maybe they were right about that.

Still, he’d caved when Mac had insisted they invite the entire gang over for Christmas dinner. It was the easiest option, seeing as their apartment was the biggest, and, in the past, celebrating in the bar had only led to disaster.

Dennis had almost wanted to put his foot down and say no, to tell Mac that they were cancelling Christmas indefinitely - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t say no to the way Mac smiled when he talked about his plans, words bubbling with excitement and energy. It would have broken Dennis to let him down.

So, that was how he came to be sat at the kitchen table with the rest of the gang, trying as hard as he could to keep it together.

It was hell. He couldn’t even reach under the table to grip Mac’s hand, since Charlie had insisted the two of them sit apart; it seemed he still resented them for the incident last week, in which he’d walked in on them making out in the back office.

Dennis crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair. It hadn’t been that bad - he and Mac  _ had  _ been fully clothed - it wasn’t like Charlie had walked in on them banging. They always locked the door when they did that.

“Dennis,” Mac said, from the other side of the table, “do you want some turkey?”

Dennis knew that tone, the way Mac was asking one thing while meaning another, knowing Dennis didn’t eat turkey anymore.

“I’m fine.” He said, stiffly.

“Okay. Dee?”

Dee rolled her eyes from where she was sitting next to Dennis, mirroring his body language, “we’re gonna be here all night if you dish it out like that - can’t you just put it in the middle and let us go at it?”

“Yeah, like animals!” Frank piped up, earning an approving clap on the back from Charlie.

Dennis sat up, “don’t compare us to animals!”

“Yeah, Frank,” Mac said, shooting Dennis a grateful look, “we need to dish everything out evenly - how else can we make sure everyone gets enough?”

By everyone he meant Dennis. That much was obvious.

“Dude, we have enough food to feed, like, twenty people.” Charlie said, “we’re good.”

“We’re good.” Dee agreed.

Dennis looked Mac in the eye, before echoing, “we’re good.”

“Fine.”

Mac dropped the turkey knife down on the table, as though he were throwing down a gauntlet, and gave the gang permission to eat.

He smiled at Dennis from across the table, nodding at his empty plate. Dennis shrugged in response.

Locked away in the depths of his mind, he’d crafted an imaginary version of the day - the way it should have gone. In his version, Dennis spent the entire day curled up on the couch, watching shitty movies that didn’t feature snow or Santa Claus.

In his version, he gave Mac his gift and pretended there was no reason for it, that he’d just decided to do something nice, something impromptu. He knew Mac would know not to talk about it too much. That was one of their specialities, not talking.

Because, despite everything. Dennis had gotten everyone in the gang a gift.

He’d bought Dee a new food processor, to make up for the one he and Mac had broken when they’d lived with her; he’d gotten Charlie a melodica, despite knowing it would annoy the shit out of him; and, for Frank, he’d gotten a pair of nail clippers, because somebody may as well try.

He’d struggled a little more with Mac’s gift. It wasn’t like he was hard to buy for - Dennis knew he’d love whatever he bought for him, even if it was the shittiest, most thoughtless, most generic gift imaginable.

And that was why it had to be perfect.

“Dennis?” Dee elbowed him in the rips, her sharp elbows drawing out a cry of pain, “stop dicking around and eat something.”

“Yeah, man! I worked hard on this!”

Sighing, Dennis piled a couple of vegetables onto his plate. He popped a piece of carrot into his mouth, trying not to pull a face as it hit his taste buds, bitter and unseasoned.

“Mmm.” He said, nodding at Charlie, “that’s good, man.”

Charlie smiled through a mouthful of turkey, “I know!”

Sensing the gang were eating, Pippin trotted over, sitting at Dennis’ feet and looking up at him, her eyes wide and pleading.

“Does that dog ever stop eatin’?” Frank complained, “go put her in another room!”

“You’re in  _ our _ apartment, man,” Mac grumbled quietly, “and she’s our dog.”

Dennis glared at Frank and ripped off a small piece of turkey, dropping it on the floor for Pippin. She ate it happily before lying down and closing her eyes, calm; it soothed Dennis a little to see her, the only one in the room who wasn’t on edge.

The next few hours carried on in a similar, hellish fashion. Dennis tried to keep his cool, feeding Pippin under the table and grinding his teeth through the various arguments they cycled through, visiting the same topics they did every year.

It was dark outside by the time they managed to shepard everyone out - they’d handed each other their gifts as they left, knowing from past experience that opening them all together could result in nothing short of a bloodbath.

Mac closed the door, sighing in relief, “that was-”

“-a disaster?” Dennis prompted, flopping down on the couch.

Mac looked at him, “I was gonna say nice.”

Dennis gave him a withering look, but wiped it off his face as Mac crossed the room to sit down next to him, draping an arm around his shoulders.

“You want your gift now?” He asked, squeezing him gently.

“Ehh…”

A sudden, dizzying hole opened in the middle of their living room, sending a shock of hot panic through Dennis’ stomach. He’d been an idiot - a complete idiot. The gift he’d gotten Mac was nothing, it was a mistake, it was far too sentimental for someone he’d only been dating two months.

He bit his lip, looking down. 

In the depths of his sock drawer, nestled in green tissue paper, was a mixtape.

Now, thinking clearly, he knew it was stupid. A mixtape - what was a mixtape? Mac made them for him all the time, they weren’t giftworthy, and Dennis hadn’t even made the effort to find a nice case. It was just loose, with Mac’s name written on the side in smudged sharpie.

He was going to absolutely hate it.

“Can we, ah,” he wiggled from Mac’s grasp, standing up, “can we open them in different rooms?”

Mac frowned, “why?”

“I just-”

“Dude, I won’t be mad if you don’t like my gift - promise! You don’t have to, like, pretend to cry and smile and shit. I know you find it hard to-”

“No, Mac, it’s not-” Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose, “look: my gift is really stupid, okay? It’s dumb, I don’t know what I was thinking when I made it, and-”

Mac’s eyes lit up, “you  _ made  _ me a gift?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point! It’s terrible - it’s awful, you’re gonna hate it, you’re gonna hate  _ me!” _

He didn’t know how to explain to Mac that he was going to be disappointed. Out of all the shitty things he’d done to him, all his shortfalls and mistakes, this one almost hurt the worst; because, in hindsight, he could think of a million better gifts he could have gotten him - something useful he’d need every day, or something flashy and expensive that he’d treasure.

Dennis wanted to go back in time and knock some sense into himself. He wanted to go back and stop himself from creeping into the living room while Mac was asleep and sitting there in the semi-darkness, painstakingly recording love songs onto an old tape.

Mac was still looking at him with wide, shining eyes, “I wanna see it,” he said.

“Mac…”

“You can turn your back while I open it?”

It wasn’t enough, but Dennis didn’t want to make this more of a disaster than it had already become. He nodded, looking down.

“I’ll get them,” he said, pulling away as Mac reached out to take his hand.

He knew exactly where to find Mac’s gift - he kept everything in the same hiding spot: his secret stash of savings, his gifts, things Dennis wasn’t supposed to see. Dennis had long since granted him the dignity of privacy, and closed his eyes as he rummaged around until his fingers closed around a small package.

He returned to the living room a moment later with the two small gifts. By this point, he didn’t care what Mac had gotten him - the thing about Mac’s presents was that they were always infused with something. Even if they sucked, as they sometimes did, Dennis found himself treasuring each and every one of them. From the shitty watch Mac had lifted for Dennis’ 17th birthday, to the RPG, they all felt equally as important.

“I’ll open mine first,” Mac said, “to get it over with.”

Dennis nodded mutely, turning around and closing his eyes. He tensed up as he heard the telltale sound of ripping paper, followed by complete and utter silence.

“Mac?” He said, his voice wavering.

“You…” Mac’s sounded like someone was choking him, and Dennis had to look down at his hands, just in case, “you made me a mixtape?”

There was something else in his voice, beside the choking, that Dennis couldn’t identify; a hint of amusement. He wasn’t sure whether to relax or get defensive.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he mumbled an apology, “you always make them for me, so I thought-”

“Dude, you have to open mine. Like, now.”

“Huh?”

“Open it!”

Dennis rolled his eyes, stomach still churning, and picked up Mac’s gift. It was light, and badly wrapped, with so much sellotape that Dennis struggled to open it.

When he managed to tear it, though, he stopped short.

It was a mixtape.

“Holy shit.” He said.

Spinning around, he caught Mac by the arm, meeting his wide eyes - there was no way they’d gotten each other the same gift, right?

Mac was smiling wide, looking like he was about to burst with laughter, “dude.”

“Did we-”

“Yeah.”

He let out a quiet laugh, and the chasm in the middle of the room, the swirling in his stomach, the tight feeling in his chest, all stopped. Leaning forward, he grabbed Mac by the back of the neck to pull him in, kissing him slow and gentle. Mac kissed back, touching a gentle hand to Dennis’ face.

Dennis let his fingers go slack on the cassette, barely noticing when it slipped from his grip and into his lap, clattering gently; he wrapped his arms around Mac, smiling against him as he felt himself unspool, as easily as a tape.

“Dude,” Mac whispered, eventually, “we’d better not have used the same songs.”

Dennis kissed the corner of his mouth, widening his smile, “nah, that’s a step too far.”

“Really?”

“Well - how much Rick Astley does yours have?”

Mac shook his head, and would probably have rolled his eyes had Dennis not still been peppering him with kisses.

“C’mon,” he said, as Dennis pulled away, “we can listen to these while we do the dishes.”

“But, it’s Christmas!” Dennis pouted.

“Fine,” Mac said, getting to his feet, “we can listen to these while we do the festive dishes.”

“Fuck off.”

Mac kissed him again.

Christmas was still a bullshit holiday - but Dennis suddenly didn’t mind all that much.”

**January**

Dennis always got sick in January; whether it was from the flu, or a stomach bug, or even, one strange year, food poisoning, he was guaranteed to spend at least a week of the month curled up in bed under a mountain of tissues. It was a constant in his life, like the sunrise, or Mac burning breakfast.

This year wasn’t as bad as it had been previously - maybe Mac had been a little more attentive than usual, or maybe Dennis had just gotten lucky. Either way, he found himself curled up on the couch on his third day off work, only sniffling a little.

Mac wasn’t up yet - but that didn’t strike Dennis as all that unusual, despite it being nearly two in the afternoon. They’d been up half the night together, disturbed by Dennis’ hacking cough. He deserved sleep.

Still, Dennis was starting to get antsy without him. He wasn’t used to hanging out on the couch alone, and, even with Pippin sitting beside him, the living room suddenly felt huge, like it was threatening to swallow him.

Trying to shake off the creeping dread, he clambered to his feet and made his way back to the bedroom. If he was lucky, he’d be able to sneak back into bed unnoticed, with Mac barely registering he’d left in the first place.

“Mac?” He hissed as he cracked the door open, “are you awake?”

No response.

He smiled to himself, before tiptoeing across the room and climbing back into bed, trying as hard as he could not to jog the mattress.

“Dennis?”

Shit. Dennis reached out to silence Mac with a quiet hand, before pausing, his fingers pressed against Mac’s face. He was warm, running the same temperature Dennis had been only a few days earlier.

“Mac?”

Mac opened his eyes, squinting at Dennis, “did we sleep in?”

“No, you’re- you’re okay.”

Dennis studied Mac carefully, trying to see if he looked unwell. His cheeks were a little flushed, but Dennis couldn’t tell whether that was from a fever, or because he just did that sometimes when Dennis touched him.

Realising there was no hurry to get up, Mac closed his eyes again. Dennis leaned in closer, now pressing both hands to his face, feeling his warm, dry skin beneath him - there was definitely something wrong, something that set Dennis’ pulse skittering off on an unsteady rhythm.

“Mac,” he said, “you’re really hot.”

Mac smiled, drowsy, “thanks, man.”

“No, asshole! You have a temperature - you’re burning up.”

“Huh? I feel fine.”

He didn’t sound fine; now that he’d spoken more than a couple of words, Dennis could hear the telltale scratch of his throat, the way it croaked ever-so-slightly as he swallowed.

If Dennis had gotten better at accepting love, Mac had gotten worse. They were like two tilted scales, offsetting each other, never able to find the balance they needed; it was as though there was only so much room for need in their household, and Dennis was using it all up, needing and needing and taking everything. 

Dennis didn’t want it like that. He didn’t believe that care could be a finite resource - Mac would have run out years ago otherwise. He just didn’t know how to say this in a way that wasn’t terrifying.

It scared him, a lot of the time, to know that Mac had hidden entire storms inside himself before, and had the capacity to do it again; sometimes he feared that he was all storm, his thick skin hiding what lay beneath as they sat side by side on the couch, talking about their day.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, a little sharply, flicking Mac’s chest, “I don’t like it.”

Mac rolled his eyes a little and propped himself up on one elbow, still blinking away sleep; he sniffled gently, and froze as he saw Dennis’ gaze darken, like he knew he wasn’t going to get away with it.

“Dude,” he said, stubborn as always, “I’m fine. Promise. It’s just a cold - I don’t get sick like you do.”

“Uh-huh?” Dennis said, narrowing his eyes. Was Mac really so delusional that he believed his own lies? Surely not - even he must remember his bouts of flu in the past.

Still, Dennis decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, to turn his head to the side, or whatever it was Mac was always telling him to do.

“I’m making you a cup of tea.” He said, firmly.

“I’ll do it-”

“No, asshole! You stay here.”

Dennis leapt off the bed, with more energy than he’d had in weeks. It felt good to be useful, to have a purpose - maybe this was why Mac was so hell-bent on caring for him, he could see himself becoming addicted to this, as easily as crack or beer or cigarettes.

Before Mac could get another word in, he dashed into the kitchen and turned the kettle on, shuffling his feet as he realised how cold he was. The heating was broken again. 

He and Mac had called and called about it, threatening legal action, even asking Frank to hire someone to threaten their landlord; nothing had worked.

Swearing under his breath, Dennis held his hands above the kettle for a long second, letting the rising heat warm them.

He barely noticed Pippin padding over until she pawed at his leg, begging to be let up.

“Heya,” he said, slipping into that soft voice he always found himself using with her, “does someone want a treat?”

At the mention of treats, Pippin bounced onto her hind legs, scrabbling at Dennis’ pyjama bottoms. Julia had told him that this was a bad habit they needed to break, that dogs jumping and scratching wa frowned upon, generally speaking; but she was so small, and looked so sweet that Mac and Dennis had only encouraged her bad behaviour.

It was funny how quickly they’d fallen into their new life. Owning a dog, being a couple, being open about their feelings - Dennis had thought it would take more time to adjust to.

But here he was, here  _ they  _ were, three months into a relationship and still standing.

Technically, it was the longest relationship Dennis had ever had. Not even he and Maureen had managed three months without breaking up for a period of time.

The kettle finished boiling and Dennis shook his head, realising he’d zoned out. Quickly, he busied himself with their mugs and teabags, dropping a treat to the floor to keep Pippin quiet.

When he was done, he balanced the cups of tea on a tray and scooped Pippin up under one of his arms, wobbling a little as he tried not to spill anything.

“Stay still,” he muttered, in vain, as she wiggled happily, trying to lick his face.

Mac was waiting for him in bed, eyes flickering open when he heard Dennis open the door.

“Pips wanted to see you,” Dennis explained, dropping her down on the bed and letting her bounce over to Mac.

A small smile bloomed on Mac’s face, “thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being nice.”

Dennis dumped the tray down on Mac’s knees and clambered into bed beside him, “I’m always nice,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Liar.”

Maybe that should have been the start of an argument, or some kind of crisis. Dennis wasn’t nice - he was mean and brittle and snapped way too easily, and he was all too aware of that; to have it brought to his attention made something thump against the walls of his heart.

But Mac was smiling and reaching out to take Dennis’ hand, and Dennis was smiling back, because he wanted to be nice - because, he could be nice if he really, really tried.

He put a hand to Mac’s forehead; it was still warm.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Mac rolled his eyes again, “Dennis, I’m  _ sure.  _ Stop fussing, man, that’s supposed to be my job.”

Dennis winced, picturing the scales, picturing them tipping just a little bit further.

If Mac took care of Dennis - then who was taking care of Mac?

Dennis was no stranger to looking after people. He’d looked after his mum enough times as a kid, working together with Dee to make sure she didn’t hurt herself after passing out drunk on the couch for the third afternoon in a row. He’d brought her painkillers to aid her hangovers, fetching and carrying and being bossed around until he felt more like a nurse than a son.

It had been exhausting.

But this felt different. The way Mac was leaning against him, the lingering heat in his fingertips from where he’d warmed them on the kettle, the soft silence of the bedroom. It felt like there was a gentle buzzing of energy inside of him, a love that could only be heard at the lowest frequency.

Gently, Dennis picked up Mac’s tea and pushed it into his hands. There was no danger of it being spilled anymore, as Pippin had calmed down, and was curled up by Mac’s side.

“Drink this, then go back to sleep.” Dennis said, surprised by how firm he sounded.

Mac looked surprised too, “okay,” he said.

“Yeah? I’ll call Frank and tell him we need another day off.”

“Shit,” Mac mumbled, “he’s gonna be pissed.”

“So? Let him be pissed.”

That earned another quiet smile from Mac, and Dennis felt him relax further, like he was finally giving in to a quiet day.

Somewhere, in the corner of his mind, Dennis felt the scales even out a little.

**February**

“Mac, this is a bad idea.”

“I know.”

Mac and Dennis were stood on a street corner, shivering as the night began to creep up on them. Even with Mac’s arms wrapped tightly around him, Dennis’ teeth were beginning to chatter so hard it hurt. He wanted to go home.

But he couldn’t. Because it was Valentine’s day, and he and Mac had a date.

“Fuck this,” Dennis whined, pressing closer into Mac, “dude - we’ve been stood here for an hour at least, let’s just leave!”

They’d probably been standing there for no more than ten minutes, but the cold added a layer to everything, making the minutes crawl by.

Mac grimaced, “c’mon, man, that would be a dick move.”

“I’ll tell you what’s a dick move: being late to a date on Valentine’s Day!”

“You want me to call Dee?”

The whole thing had been Dee’s idea.

She’d come out to the gang a little while after Dennis had, on the night of their New Year’s Eve party - naturally, everyone had taken it well. It wasn’t like coming out was a new concept to them, not anymore.

Dennis shook his head at the memory - he knew he could’ve helped her more with it, after all that he’d been through, all that Mac had been through-

It just felt bad to know that everyone around him had struggled as much as he had, sometimes more.

That was the main reason why he’d agreed to have a double date tonight - there was a lingering guilt, bitter, at the back of his throat, and he was desperate to get rid of it.

All he wanted was to be even.

“Hey, there they are!” Mac said, unpeeling one of his arms from Dennis’ shoulder to wave into the distance.

Dennis blinked, squinting at the dark. He could just about make out two figures approaching, linked at the hands.

“How can you see that far?” He complained, gripping onto Mac in a way he hoped would encourage him to put his arm back where it belonged.

Mac did just that, squeezing Dennis tight, “you can’t see that far?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should get your eyes checked, Den.”

Dennis wrinkled his nose at the idea. That was what people did when they got old, and he wasn’t ready to be old, not yet. He still had time.

Mac had been right, though. In a matter of minutes, Dee and her new girlfriend, Helena, were stood in front of them, looking a little nervous. It struck Dennis, suddenly, that the two of them weren’t like Mac and himself - they hadn’t fallen into a relationship slowly through the years; this was something new for both of them. He almost wondered what that would feel like, whether he’d be as in love with Mac if they met for the first time today.

“You’re late.” He said, not trying to hide his bitterness.

“Traffic.” Dee replied.

“Should’ve left earlier, then.”

Helena attempted a smile, but ended up grimacing instead, “are you two going to keep this up all night?”

Helena was Julia’s older sister, and Dennis liked her. Honestly, he was surprised that Dee’s taste in women was almost as good as his taste in men - sure, Helena hadn’t spent years gently letting Dee fall in love with her, but not everyone could have that. Dennis knew he was lucky.

She and Mac had actually become pretty good friends, much to Dennis and Dee’s horror.

“They’ll calm down after a couple of drinks,” Mac told her, patting Dennis’ arm good-naturedly.

It made Dennis a little afraid, to be spoken about like that. Mac was so open about how well he knew Dennis, not afraid to show off how easily he could predict his moods; he was almost excited every time he guessed his takeout order correctly, or fetched something for him before he realised he needed it.

It was as though, in opening himself up to one person, he’d opened himself up to the entire world, with Mac carrying his heart around in a clear glass case. Dennis trusted him not to drop it, of course, but still. Still.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, roughly, letting go of Mac to push towards the restaurant.

The group followed him wordlessly.

Once seated, Dennis began to relax a little. He was sat beside Mac and opposite Dee, penned into the corner in a way that could have easily been claustrophobic, had Mac’s leg not been resting solidly against his own.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you three as being into fancy restaurants like this,” Helena drawled, looking up at the vast ceiling.

Helena and Julia came from money, and Dennis didn’t think either of them liked letting people forget it. They’d probably grown up in similar areas, but it wasn’t like you’d catch Dennis droning on about the mansion he was raised in; not often, anyway.

He scowled, “this is actually  _ the  _ nicest restaurant in Philadelphia, Helena.”

“Is it really, though?” Dee chipped in, “you’re always saying that, but I think the waiters are kinda unprofessional.”

“Actually,  _ Dee,  _ Dennis have been coming here for years, and the only time’s we’ve ever had any trouble has been when you’ve been here with us.” Mac said, crossing his arms and leaning in closer to Dennis.

Dee glared at him, looking like she was about to throw something, like her glass of water or a temper tantrum.

As much as Dennis hated to admit it, she was right. Guigino’s was, most likely, not the nicest restaurant in Philadelphia. But that didn’t stop it from being Dennis’ favourite. There was something about the way the light softened everyone’s features, the calm music, and the fact that he’d been eating there for so long it felt as close to home as Paddy’s did; it just made him feel warm all over.

He let out a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend Valentine’s day.

“Do we have to argue?” He said, cutting Mac off as he listed the other, less classy, restaurants Philadelphia had to offer.

Dee squinted at him, “what?”

“It’s just-” he glanced at Mac, who was watching him with an expression that made his throat itch, “it’s just that it’s Valentine’s Day; and you’re here with your girlfriend and I’m here with… Mac. I thought that, maybe, we could try to have a nice night for once.”

Everyone went silent. For a moment, Dennis thought he’d said something wrong - had they picked up on the way his throat had stuck around the word boyfriend? It wasn’t his fault, it just didn’t feel right anymore. His and Mac’s relationship couldn’t be constrained to that word - it was too small, too juvenile.

After a moment, Dee seemed to come back to herself, “okay,” she said, nodding jerkily, “okay, sure.”

Confused, Dennis looked back to Mac. He gave him an encouraging smile and a nod, before taking his hand under the table and squeezing it.

It felt just like all the other times - back when they hadn’t been together, back when suggesting their relationship was anything but platonic was enough to spark a week long argument. Back then, they’d held hands and intertwined their legs beneath the table, as though the touch didn’t count if they couldn’t see it happening; it had always made butterflies erupt in Dennis’ stomach, fluttering up into his chest and out of his mouth, choking him.

They were still there, sort of.

“Should we, like, get a bottle of wine or something?” Dee asked, flipping open her menu.

Helena snorted, “just one?”

Something about the way Dee laughed in response made Dennis feel that they had an inside joke. He stared at them forlornly, feeling a little lost, inexplicably left behind.

Mac nudged him, “what are you getting?” He asked.

“A salad, but don’t copy my-”

“I like salad!”

“You hate salad! Jesus, just get the fish instead, Mac!”

Looking down at the menu, Mac smiled like he was remembering something, “yeah, I like the fish too.”

“I know you do.”

Ordering went more smoothly than it usually did, mostly due to Mac’s bossiness.

Usually, ordering for more than two people took them forever - there were arguments, tears, bargains, threats. Then again, that was how everything was with the gang.

Even Helena looked shocked, “last time Dee and I were on a date, we couldn’t decide on what we wanted to eat for  _ two hours _ ,” she said, “they ended up kicking us out.”

“Two hours?” Mac scoffed, in disbelief.

“We were high as shit.” Dee explained.

Waving his hand dismissively, Dennis rolled his eyes; of course they were.

“Of course you were,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dee snapped, so loudly that a couple nearby turned to give them a worried glance.

Sighing, Dennis leaned against Mac, “sis, it was a joke.”

“It was a shitty joke!”

“You’re a-” Dennis stopped short, remembering he wasn’t supposed to be arguing, and closed his eyes.

Luckily for him, Helena came to the rescue by bombarding them with actual shitty jokes, keeping them laughing and in a good mood for the rest of their meal.

It was fun. In all honesty, it hadn’t been Dennis’ ideal Valentine’s Day; if he’d gotten what he’d wanted, he and Mac would have been in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant, knocking knees and talking quietly.

But, as it was, it could have been a lot worse. It was nice to feel like he had something that could be shared with the outside world, even if that something was oftentimes messy and complicated.

“That was a nice night,” Mac said to him as they walked home, practically glued together in an effort to not freeze to death.

Dennis smiled, “yeah, it was.”

“I like Helena.”

“Eh, I think she can do better than Dee. But I guess she seems like a pretty good girlfriend.”

Mac paused for a second, “Den,” he said, “do you, like, think of me as your boyfriend? Or are we just-”

Dennis winced. He should’ve known Mac would want to discuss this - he’d sensed him tense up as he fumbled the word earlier.

“Uh,” he said, “kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“It just doesn’t seem right to squash it down to that, man. Boyfriend feels too small for someone you’ve been in love with since you were sixteen.”

Mac ducked his head, smiling, “what? You think partner works better?”

“God, no. That makes it sound like we’re business partners.”

“But we are!”

It was Dennis’ turn to smile, “partners in business and partners in life.”

It had been so long since he and Mac had pulled that scheme - over a decade, now. He wondered how he would’ve felt back then, had he known where he’d end up in ten years time.

It was funny how often they’d switched. Dennis thought about it all the time; how, during their Honey and Vinegar scheme, he’d been the one to initiate everything. He’d been the one to hold Mac’s face in his hands, to suggest they pretend to be a couple, to take Mac’s hand on the walk home, like it was all a part of the plan.

Now, Dennis felt dizzy when Mac kissed him for too long.

“Okay,” Dennis said, shifting from foot to foot, “boyfriend is fine until we figure out something better. I guess.”

Something better already existed. Many better things already existed, but Dennis wasn’t quite sure how to say them out loud.

Mac smiled, “sounds good to me.”

“Good.” Dennis said.

“Good.” Mac repeated.

Gripping Mac just a bit tighter, Dennis sucked a deep breath in, “let’s hurry up and get home, though,” he said, “what’s the point in having a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day if you don’t get to bang all night?”

“Aw, bro,” Mac pouted, “there has to be a more romantic way of saying that.”

“I assure you there isn’t.”

“Asshole.”

**March **

Not all days were good days. Some days, more days than Dennis would care to admit, were very bad days.

He sat on the couch, knees tucked up to his chest as he tried to block out the sound of Mac laughing on the phone with Charlie in the kitchen. They’d been talking for about half an hour and it was starting to set him on edge, to make him clench his fists and grind his teeth like he was preparing for a fight. Maybe he was.

There was something prickling at the back of his neck, something that had been building all week. Even he, as out of touch with his emotions as he was, knew what he was feeling. It was anger. Unearned, irrational, anger.

There was a part of him that knew he should calm down before Mac noticed, or someone got hurt, but he couldn’t. He was a coiled wire, ready to lash out and cut someone at any second.

He wasn’t mad that Mac was talking to Charlie. He wasn’t mad that Mac wasn’t paying attention to him. He wasn’t even mad that Mac had forgotten their plans to go out, and had left him sitting on the couch like a dumbass as he waited.

Really, Dennis didn’t know why he was mad. He just was.

There was something inside of him, red and hot, that had flared up, like a sore joint that had never fully healed. It pulsed at the sound of Mac laughing, making him wince with rage.

Just as he was debating storming off to sulk in his room, he heard Mac say his goodbyes to Charlie and put the phone down on the kitchen counter, letting it clatter noisily. Dennis flinched.

“That was Charlie,” Mac said, oblivious, “he and Frank got into some wild shit last night, man, apparently, they-”

“Wow.” Dennis said, monotone.

A short silence followed, “you okay?”

“Fine.”

Mac sighed.

He was probably used to this. It made Dennis even angrier that Mac was used to this.

He stood up and stalked into the bedroom, knowing Mac was watching and analysing his every move, knowing he was probably worried. Dennis didn’t care - so, let him worry! He worried too much, it was his own fault.

Sure enough, Mac hurried after him and gripped his shoulder, turning him to look into his eyes.

“Dennis?” He said, “what’s wrong?”

“I just told you I was fine, Mac! Jesus Christ!”

Mac furrowed his brow, looking a little hurt. Dennis felt nothing. If he felt something, he didn’t let it get to him - he pushed it all away, the guilt, the knowledge he was in the wrong, Mac’s hands. 

“Dude,” Mac folded his arms, “come on.”

“What?”

Dennis felt like a knife. He felt like a flame. He felt like something that could hurt and something that had been hurt in equal measure.

But there was no pain in Mac’s eyes - maybe Dennis wasn’t as sharp as he thought he was.

Instead of crumbling, Mac reached out to touch Dennis’ face, “you’re upset.”

“No.”

“Dennis.”

This was a game. Maybe if Dennis pushed hard enough, Mac would fall so far away from him that he’d never speak to him again. Maybe he wanted that.

“What?” He repeated.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Then leave me alone.”

Shaking Mac off once again, Dennis stormed over to the bed, sitting down and staring at his feet. He almost wanted Mac to fight back, to give him a reason to be angry - a reason to feel the way he did.

Instead of giving Dennis what he wanted, for probably the first time in three years, Mac turned around and left.

Dennis sat there, the sound of the bedroom door echoing in his ringing ears as he realised what he’d done. He’d pushed Mac away.

Desperately, he tried to bring back that flame of anger; he strained to hate Mac, to scream and yell and curse him for leaving him alone - why hadn’t he fought back? Why hadn’t he scooped Dennis into his arms and held him until he felt okay again?

But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even muster up a single spark. Mac had done what he’d told him to do, and he couldn’t fault him for that.

He put his head in his hands.

A thousand years seemed to pass. Two thousand. Three thousand. A whole millenia crawled by as he sat there alone in his room, straining his ears to see what Mac was doing.

The distant sound of footsteps and creaking floorboards were the only things that reminded him he was alive - he thought that, maybe, if Mac left the apartment, he would drift away from himself entirely.

He scared himself.

Even now, now that he was supposed to have sorted himself out, now that he was out of the closet, he still scared himself. It hadn’t fixed him in the way he’d hoped it would.

There was something about the vast expanse of choice the world offered that he didn’t think he was ready for - he couldn’t comprehend how anyone was expected to be able to cope with it. Because, he could do  _ anything _ . Right then, if he wanted to, he could storm out and tell Mac he didn’t love him.

He didn’t want to. He did love him. But it was an option.

He’d hoped that Mac would make him better. It was stupid, he knew it was - he’d lived with Mac for years and the two of them had only really succeeded in making each other worse.

But there was a secret part of him that needed to cling to the hope that he could get better. He didn’t know what he’d do without it.

After a long, long time, Dennis heard the bedroom door creak open.

He was laid back on the bed, the heels of his palms pressed firmly to his eyes. By that point, he’d come down from his spiral a little, feeling more stupid than anything else.

He didn’t open his eyes as he heard Mac walk towards him. He could be holding a suitcase, he could be holding a knife, he could be smiling and ready to forgive. It didn’t matter.

Even in his apathy, he jumped as something light and hard landed on his chest, jolting him.

“Wh-” he opened his eyes, looking down to see what Mac had brought him.

It was a granola bar.

“Peace offering?” Dennis asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the bar.

“You skipped breakfast. And lunch.”

“Ah.”

Mac sighed heavily and sat down on the bed next to Dennis, folding and unfolding his hands in his lap. For the first time, Dennis braved a glance at his face - he looked fine, no tears, no puffy eyes, no red cheeks. The only hint that there was anything wrong at all was the thin, straight line his mouth was drawn in.

“Uh, so,” Mac met his gaze, “what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Dude-”

“I’m tired,” Dennis said, quickly, telling the only truth he trusted himself with, “I don’t wanna fight.”

“You’re tired because you haven’t eaten.” Mac scolded.

Dennis glared at him, making no move to pick up the bar.

Sighing again, Mac plucked the granola bar from where it lay on Dennis’ chest and opened it, breaking off a tiny piece and handing it to him. Dennis sat up and nibbled at it.

This was how their arguments always ended, and it made Dennis feel endlessly shitty. It was like he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of them - no matter what had happened, or who had been in the wrong, Mac was always the first to break the silence.

Sometimes it made things worse. Sometimes it didn’t.

“You don’t have to do this.” Dennis said, watching as Mac broke off another piece of granola bar for him.

“I know.”

“You  _ shouldn’t _ do this.” Dennis clarified.

Mac paused, “why not?”

“I don’t- I don’t deserve- I haven’t  _ earned-” _

“You don’t need to earn lunch, man.”

“This isn’t about that.”

There were too many things. Too many things were wrong and neither of them could tell which was which anymore - was Dennis not eating because he was fasting, or was he too numb to be hungry? Was he crying from anger, or sadness? Was he breaking down or had he already broken?

“What is this about, then?” Mac asked, not without bitterness, “you’ve gotta tell me this stuff, Dennis.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or-”

“ _ I don’t know!” _

Mac fell silent, “maybe you should go see that doctor again.”

“Mac…”

“Dude, I wanna help you but all this - granola bars and handholding and shit, it’s not enough! I want it to be but… it’s not.” He paused, swallowing hard, “what if you get really bad again?”

“I’m always really bad.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dennis did. He knew exactly what Mac meant.

And he knew it wasn’t fair - him expecting Mac to undo forty years of damage with a cup of tea and a kiss wasn’t fair.

He sat in silence for a long moment, looking at Mac’s hands, remembering the last time he’d been to the doctor, the way the pills had rattled a little too loudly as he put them in his pocket.

He remembered the options that had been read out to him before he’d escaped the room; therapy, mood stabilisers, antidepressants; they’d all seemed like such huge, terrifying things at the time, out of his reach. 

“Therapy is for people with the capacity to get better,” he’d told Dee, ignoring the way she’d rolled her eyes at him, “not for people like us.”

But he was a different person, now. He believed, or, he wanted to believe, that there was a future in which he didn’t feel like this.

Mac was right. 

“Okay,” he said, putting a hand on Mac’s arm, “okay, yeah. Sorry.”

“You’ll make an appointment?” Mac sounded shocked, like he hadn’t expected Dennis to listen at all.

“I will.”

Mac sighed, “it’s gonna help, man.”

“I know.”

Mac let out another sigh, heavy and tired, before resting his head against Dennis’ shoulder; Dennis wrapped an arm around him and they stayed like that for a long time.

In the coming weeks, Dennis made an appointment and was given a stern lecture by his doctor, who sent him on his way with a new prescription and a whole page of numbers for nearby therapists. The pills were big and bitter and made his stomach cramp but they helped.

In the same few weeks, Mac finally learned how to bake a cake without burning it to a crisp. It tasted bad and was full of shards of eggshells and globs of unsieved sugar. That also helped.

**April**

Dennis had never felt as out of place as he did at the farmer’s market. He was born and raised in the city, which had given him a natural aversion to anything earthy - smelly cheeses, artisanal soaps and bottles of dirt, the entire thing made Dennis want to take a long shower.

He and Mac had, at least, been saddled with a fairly inoffensive product: honey. Stolen honey, whatever that meant, but honey nonetheless.

Frank had burst into the bar a couple of days ago, claiming that he had a truck of illegal goods in the back alley. Naturally, this had caused great excitement - illegal goods meant drugs, and drugs either meant violence or fun, which were the same thing in the gang’s book. 

They were all sorely disappointed. Frank had someone stolen vats upon vats of honey, sickly and golden, and needed the gang to shift it for him.

Dennis had wanted nothing to do with it. Selling honey? It wasn’t exactly up his street.

Frank had still insisted the entire gang accompany him to the farmer’s market the following weekend, though, insisting that it would be a bonding activity as well as an amazing chance to make money.

Dennis disagreed.

It was a hot day, far too hot. Dennis could feel beads of sweat beginning to trickle down the back of his neck, making him itch with frustration. 

“Why don’t we just get out of here, baby?” He wheedled, rounding on Mac with his sweetest, most convincing voice, “find somewhere to get lunch? Just the two of us?”

Mac frowned, unaffected, “Frank’d murder us.”

“So?”

“Dude, come on, it’s nice out! Charlie’ll probably be back soon - then we can take a lunch break or something.”

Charlie had been gone for almost an hour. He’d left under the guise of checking out some wool he’d seen for sale a couple of stalls away, feeding his new knitting hobby. Dennis had a strong suspicion he’d done a runner.

He folded his arms, looking down at their still-full stall; honey hadn’t been the hot seller Frank had hoped it would be. Dennis had no idea what he was doing wrong - he’d arranged everything nicely, positioning the jars so they shone nicely in the sunlight, gold catching gold. Did it look unappealing? Could people tell it was stolen?

Just then, Dee approached the stall, dragging Helena behind her. Dennis didn’t exactly think it was fair that Dee had been allowed to turn the ordeal into a date while he and Mac had been left on the stall, but the heat had scrambled his brain so badly that he didn’t have the energy to argue.

“You’re scaring away all the customers,” Dee said bluntly.

“Huh?”

She gestured to Dennis’ folded arms, “you two are the most intimidating honey salesmen I’ve ever seen - you look like you’re about to rob anyone who approaches you.”

“We do  _ not!”  _ Mac snapped, putting his hands on his hips.

Dennis had to admit that, without knowing him, Mac must seem a little intimidating; especially since he’d decided to wear one of his sleeveless shirts emblazoned with skulls, claiming it was too hot to wear anything else. 

“Look,” Dee leaned in, “the sooner you sell this shit, the sooner we can all get out of here. Frank’s saying we might have to come back again next week if we don’t get rid of enough today.”

“Come  _ back?”  _ Dennis said, “no, Dee, that’s where I draw the line - I refuse-”

“Then sell the goddamn honey!”

“How?”

Dee smiled, her attention already caught by something Helana was tugging her towards, “figure it out.”

And then she was gone, leaving Dennis sighing and swearing at her retreating figure, knowing she was right.

He turned to Mac, upset, “how the hell are we gonna shift all this honey?”

“Uh-” Mac paused, “I guess we could, like, hide it. Say we got robbed.”

“Hm. That could work, actually.”

“Yeah?”

It was a stupid plan, one that Dennis knew they’d never follow through with or carry off - but it felt nice to scheme, to have something they could share to keep them entertained.

“Shit, dude, maybe there’s a lake around here somewhere! In crime shows, people always drop shit in lakes.”

“A lake, huh?” Dennis laughed, taking Mac’s hand without thinking, “you think that’ll work?”

“Even better - I  _ know  _ it’ll work.”

“Excuse me?”

Dennis turned his head, annoyed at the interruption, only to see two women standing at the stall, examining the honey.

“Hey,” Dennis said, “you gonna buy that?”

The shorter of the two women, who had a tight grasp on a baby stroller, frowned, “what kind of honey is this?”

“Uh-” Dennis looked helplessly at Mac.

“I’ve got this,” Mac murmured, squeezing his hand. He turned to the woman, smiling, and said: “bee.”

“Bee?”

“Bee honey.”

The taller woman put the honey down, “but what  _ kind?  _ It almost looks like lavender, but-”

“Um,” Mac glanced at Dennis, “does it say anything on the label?”

“No.”

Dennis tugged at Mac’s arm, “can you give us one second, please?” He asked the women, flashing what he hoped was a good-natured grin.

He pulled Mac aside, whispering loudly, “dude,” he said, “Frank totally boned us.”

“I know, Den - what the fuck is lavender honey?”

“Alright,” Dennis said, “calm down, we just need a plan-”

“Let’s give up,” Mac urged, fingers tightening on Dennis’ wrist, “let’s just forget about Frank and look around the market together.”

It was an appealing idea. Dennis turned to glance at the woman, seeing that they were laughing quietly, picking up different jars of honey and showing them to each other.

He had an idea.

Turning back to Mac, he hissed “is there a, like, agreement between lesbians and gays?”

“Huh?”

“Well, they’re a couple, we’re a couple - maybe if we play up the fact that we’re together, they’ll take pity on us and buy a few jars?”

Mac’s eyes lit up, “dude, you’re  _ so  _ smart!”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, “now shut up and gimmie a kiss. For the scheme.”

Mac scoffed, trying to hide his grin as he bumped a clumsy kiss to Dennis’ cheek.

The two of them turned back to the customers, smiling brightly; Dennis looped his arm through Mac’s, gripping onto him as though his life depended on it.

“Sorry,” he said, knowing how false he sounded, “this is actually my dad’s stall - we’re just helping out for the day.

“It’s not good for him to be out in this heat. Not in his old age,” Mac said, so solemnly that Dennis almost laughed. “I just wanna help out.”

Dennis pulled a mock-grimace, “sucking up to the in-laws,” he said, making a show of giving Mac a playful pinch.

The shorter woman smiled, “oh, don’t worry - my mother in law is  _ always  _ roping me into shit like this.” 

Her wife grinned, “oh yeah, all the time.”

Was this what it was to be normal? Getting roped into things they didn’t want to be doing? Bonding with other couples over it? Something about the entire exchange made Dennis feel settled, gave him the feeling you get when you see someone else driving the same street in the early hours in the morning. Connection through walking the same path.

He smiled, “really, we’re just trying to shift as much of this as possible - it’s good honey, but it’s hard to sell with so much competition.”

The couple looked at each other. They smiled.

“We’ll take a jar,” the taller one said, smiling.

Mac gripped Dennis’ arm tighter, “great!”

They bagged up the honey and gave it to the couple, saying enthusiastic goodbyes.

“Dude,” Dennis said, the second they were out of earshot, “that was amazing!”

“That’s the best plan you’ve ever had, man!”

Dennis laughed, “really? My very best?”

“Yeah, man.”

Despite being very aware they’d only sold one jar, Dennis felt a little proud - something had shifted. What would have made him deeply uncomfortable six months ago had let him get one up over the rest of the gang.

“You know they only bought it because they pitied us?” He smiled, dropping Mac’s arm.

“And? They still bought a whole jar of honey!”

“They did.” 

Dennis wanted to kiss Mac. He probably would have, had his face not changed as he leaned in.

“What?” He asked, worried.

“Dude, is that Charlie?”

Turning around and squinting out into the crowd, Dennis determined that Mac was, in fact, looking at Charlie.

Charlie was holding a live chicken.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dennis muttered, casting a quick glance at Pippin. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed it yet, and was sleeping peacefully beneath the stall table.

Still, deciding to rule out that particular disaster, he bent down and scooped her up as Charlie approached. He, at least, didn’t seem too harried - and Dennis suspected he had the chicken by choice rather than for a scheme, or though a series of mishaps.

“Hey!” Charlie said, “guys!”

“Hey, Charlie!” Mac said, “who’s this?”

“Oh, this handsome fella is James - be nice to him, I just rescued him.”

“Rescued him?” Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose, “so, you stole a chicken?”

“He’s not  _ just  _ a chicken, man, he’s-”

“Holy shit, did Charlie steal a chicken?”

Dee and Helena had approached the stall without Dennis noticing, and were entranced by Charlie’s new friend. Helena tickled James under his chin, cooing at him as though he were a baby.

Pippin yapped, jealous.

Charlie gripped the chicken, grinning so wide Dennis thought his face was going to split in true, “stole, no. Rescued, yes!”

“It’s the same thing!” Dennis said, “you took a chicken without permission - that’s stealing!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow,” since when did you give a shit, man?”

“Since- since always!”

“Dennis, you shoplift makeup from Target,” Dee said, picking out a jar of honey, “so shut up.”

“Used to. I  _ used _ to shoplift makeup from Target.”

Dennis was about to make a soul-destroying dig about Dee being an ineffective lifter due to her lack of coordination, but Mac stepped in before he got a chance.

“Guys, guys!” He said, holding onto Dennis, “let’s support Charlie in his deviance, okay? Anything to get one up over Frank.”

“He has a point.” Charlie said.

He really didn’t, but Dennis didn’t have the energy to argue - he sighed, and closed his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

As much as Dennis liked the idea of screwing Frank over, he didn’t want to get arrested at a farmer’s market; out of all the places to get arrested, it was one of the least badass. He had a reputation to keep up, after all.

Tugging at Mac’s sleeve, he pulled him aside, “hey, man,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Can we go now? Charlie can take care of the stall.”

Mac looked from the stall to Dennis, and then back again, a soft look coming over his face.

“Wanna go and get some samples?” He smiled.

Dennis laughed, gripping Pippin tighter, “of what? Cheese?”

“Yeah! And there’s soap, and bread, and-”

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

Dennis’ stomach flipped, “no, I was- I meant that they have honey.”

“Oh,” Mac smiled, a little lopsided, “okay. Wanna go get some? Maybe we can find the lavender type.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go, then,” Mac said, pausing, “honey.”

**May**

“Did you  _ have  _ to break your arm, Mac?”

“Huh?” Mac looked up from where he was frowning at a piece of paper, “I mean, I didn’t choose to.”

They weren’t doing great financially. Despite the bar doing a little better, they’d missed a few paychecks that month due to sickness and injury and Charlie almost burning the bar down. That, combined with Mac’s medical bills, and, of course, Dennis’ therapist, had put them well behind on rent.

Dennis sighed, throwing down the bill he was holding. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d always been terrible at maths, and had never quite figured out how budgets worked. They’d always just managed to get by, somehow.

Mac patted his shoulder. His arm was still in a cast, but that didn’t stop him from finding a way to touch Dennis every chance he got - if anything, he was more determined to keep ahold of Dennis than ever.

“Dude,” he said, gently, “it’ll be okay.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah! Look, if everything goes to shit, we can always squeeze some money out of Frank. We’ve done it before.”

Dennis raised his head, looking at him, “I don’t want Frank’s money.”

“No, no, of course not.  _ But-” _

“How are we so bad at this? How are we forty years old and struggling to pay rent?”

Sighing, Mac pushed their papers to the other side of the table, it’s just a bad month, Dennis.”

It  _ had  _ been a bad month. Mac getting hurt had made Dennis jumpy, more defensive than he usually was. It had really made him realise just how much he relied on Mac to help him feel safe; without him being able to pick him up at a moment’s notice, or break up a fight in the bar, Dennis felt vulnerable.

The medical bills had been something else, as well. Unlike Dennis, Mac didn’t have health insurance; usually, if he got hurt, he’d pose as Dennis at the hospital, a trick they’d been pulling since discovering they had the same blood type. The hospital had gotten wise over time, though, and had refused to treat Mac without photo ID.

It had cost almost $2000 to fix him up.

“Mac, we have less than three dollars in savings - and that’s including the change you found down the back of the couch.”

Mac shook his head, “we’ll just work extra hard tonight,” he soothed, “you can jack up the drink prices and pocket the difference - I’ll try and get some bribes and tips, and-”

“And then what? We get food money for the next few days? It isn’t  _ enough,  _ Mac. We have the phone bill, and, really, we need to get you on some kind of health insurance, just in case.”

“Actually,” there was a strange edge to Mac’s voice, “I was thinking about the health insurance.”

Dennis frowned, “dude, this is serious, we can’t get out of this with a scheme!”

Mac stood up abruptly and went to the sink, running himself a glass of water. With his back turned, Dennis noticed suddenly how tense he was; his shoulders were pinched stiffly together and his hair was standing up from where he’d been running his hand through it all afternoon.

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a shaky sip of water, “that there might be a way we could… keep sharing the health insurance. In a way.”

“Uh-huh?”

Dennis honestly had no idea where this was going, but hoped it didn’t involve fake IDs or disguises, because those plans almost never worked.

“You-” Mac turned around, his face pale, “you know what I’m talking about, right?”

Leaning back in his chair, Dennis squinted. It wasn’t like Mac to get so nervous when proposing a scheme, “look, Mac, if you want to get a fake ID with my name on it, you’re shit out of luck, because-”

“-what if we got married?”

Dennis’ world shifted. He gripped at the table for support, ears ringing as he tried to speak, sure that he must’ve misheard Mac, that he must be having a stroke, that there must be something in the air causing him to hallucinate.

Mac rambled on, “I know we haven’t  _ actually  _ been together long, but, like, at the same time we kinda have. It would make everything so much easier and, dude, I’d love to be your husband.”

“I-”

“If you’re not ready, I totally get it, but-”

Dennis couldn’t process any of this - it was all white noise. Marriage. Love. Husband. It made him feel like he was floating, his hands growing numb and cold as he tried to push himself to say something, anything. All he had to do was formulate an answer: a simple yes or no. He owed Mac that much.

“Mac.” He managed to choke out, interrupting his pitch.

Mac’s face fell, “you don’t wanna.”

“I do, it’s just-”

It’s just that he didn’t want it like this. Not over the kitchen table, not when he was five minutes away from crying over their financial failure, not in his sweatpants.

There was too much happening; his head was still a mess, he’d switched dosages on his medication just last week and it was making his skull feel heavy, making it harder to think. And there was so much to consider, with the way they were going, they couldn’t even afford the cheapest of engagement rings.

It was just a bad time.

He sucked in a deep breath, “not yet.” He said.

Mac didn’t cry or throw a tantrum as Dennis had feared he would. Instead, he looked down at the glass of water in his hands, “but one day?”

His voice was so small that Dennis couldn’t help but stand up and reach out for him, taking the glass from his shaking hand and putting it safely down on the kitchen counter before placing a gentle hand on his arm.

There was a sense of relief hanging over him, like a weight that he hadn’t even realised was there had been lifted.

He wanted to marry Mac. Of course he did, he’d wanted it for years, probably for longer than Mac himself had; but the thought of it scared him, made him feel weak at the knees and queasy.

It was something he’d never understood before, wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone. When he’d married Maureen, it had been a temporary fix - a way of pretending he didn’t want what he did, a way of sticking it to Mac, proving that two could play at whatever game he’d tried to initiate. But it had backfired. All it had done was show that there was only one person on this Earth who he was capable of sharing a life was.

And that person had been Mac.

“How about this,” Dennis said, kindly, “wait a few months, wait until everything is less messy, then we’ll talk about it.”

“Okay.”

He ran a finger across Mac’s cheek, “unless this entire thing is just an elaborate scheme to get cheap health insurance?”

“Uh-huh,” Mac said, breaking into a small smile, “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you for the healthcare.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“Huh?”

Dennis sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against Mac, “nothing.”

**June**

Dennis had decided that he didn’t like Pride.

He didn’t hate the things he thought he would. The bright lights, the loud noises, being surrounded by hundreds of people who all seemed more comfortable and secure in their identities than he was; it was all fine. In fact, he kind of liked it. It was scary, in a way, but, tucked safely behind the bar, he felt safe.

What he didn’t like, was the attention Mac was getting.

He couldn’t blame anyone, really - who  _ wouldn’t  _ hit on the ripped, shirtless bouncer, who had decided to slather himself in glitter, at the Pride afterparty? If he’d been living a different life, Dennis suspected he would’ve done the same.

Still, every time someone laughed too loud at his jokes, or cheered him on as he pulled some ridiculous stunt, Dennis felt a sharp pang of jealousy shoot through him.

“Keeping an eye on your man?” Helena asked, having to shout over the loud music as she handed Dennis an empty glass.

Dennis rolled his eyes, taking the glass, “shut up.”

He gave Helena a free refill - something Dee had been nagging him to do, to make sure she felt welcomed into the gang - and handed it back to her.

“You’ve been staring at him all night,” she said, like Dennis didn’t stare at Mac every night, “just ditch the bar and go bang him in the back office or something.”

“I’m not- in the back office, Hel? Really?”

“Hey, your sister and I-”

“Gross.” Dennis grimaced, cutting her off before she told him too much.

Helena rolled her eyes, aware that the conversation was going nowhere, and backed off; she headed to her booth, where she was sat with Dee and Artemis and a number of other people Dennis had come to recognise over the months.

He let his gaze flicker back to Mac. Somehow, he’d engaged in some kind of decathalon of bar activities; he was currently losing a chugging contest, drinking so slowly that it was almost embarrassing to watch. Still, he seemed to have a number of supporters. Dennis grimaced.

He tried not to let himself get jealous at the bar. Sometimes, it helped if they let customers flirt with Mac a little - at least one or two people would slip him a small tip, and any extra money was sorely needed. But, it was hard.

It was hard when the two of them stood side-by-side in front of the mirror and Dennis could see the unmistakable difference between them. Mac was big, strong, and somehow looked good no matter how dishevelled or hungover he was. Most days, Dennis found it hard to match up to him, even after hours spent on his hair and makeup.

It was hard not to believe Mac could do better than him.

Of course, Mac always assured him he was wrong, that he was biased, that the mirror was lying. But Dennis knew the truth.

“Hey, man, you keeping an eye on Mac?” Charlie asked, approaching the bar.

Somehow, Charlie had been the most enthusiastic about their Pride celebrations, even more-so than Mac; he’d let Dennis fingerpaint a little nonbinary flag on his cheek, and had rolled around in glitter before the party. It was nice to see him happy.

“I’m not  _ keeping an eye  _ on him, Jesus Christ. He can do what he wants.”

“Yeah, but, like,” Charlie leaned his elbows on the bar, taking a long sip from someone’s discarded cocktail, “you’re always so jealous and shit - and he’s got guys crawling all over him.”

“I can see that, thank you, Charlie!”

“So you  _ are  _ keeping an eye on him?” Charlie grinned.

“Shut up.”

Holding his hands up, Charlie backed off, his smile unfaltering, “just saying what I see, man,” he said.

“Well, how about you stop saying and start sweeping up some of the goddamn broken glass around here, huh? Or am I the only one that’s actually doing my job today?”

Okay, maybe that was unfair. The gang had offered to switch Dennis out every so often, telling him he didn’t have to be the sole bartender for his very first Pride. But it had felt safer behind the bar, like there was a barrier between him and the people who actually deserved to be here. The people who were actually proud.

With Charlie disappearing into the crowd, Dennis glanced back at Mac, stomach plummeting when he spotted him.

He was engaged in another competition, this time armwrestling some drunk man on the far end of the bar. His table was partially obscured by the throngs of people surrounding it, but Dennis saw all there was to see: Mac was, technically, holding hands with another man.

He gritted his teeth, picking up a glass and cleaning it so thoroughly that he thought it might shatter. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, like sharp metal, and he felt so goddamn stupid because he knew Mac wouldn’t pull shit like him on purpose, he knew he wouldn’t cheat or lie, but-

But maybe he deserved to.

Dennis snuck another glance at the man Mac was armwrestling with; he was pretty ripped, his arm almost matching Mac’s for muscle, and, from what Dennis could make out, he was handsome, too.

Swallowing hard, he looked down at his own hands. They were the hands of an old man - rough and wrinkled and marked with age. If he were Mac, and he had to choose between himself and the man he was currently holding hands with, he knew who he’d pick.

The man at the table was probably normal. He probably didn’t need someone to wait out in the car with him while he went to therapy. He probably didn’t have nightmares and outbursts and violent fits of rage. He was probably good.

Just then, a loud cheering came from Mac’s table. Dennis looked up, frowning.

Mac had pinned the other man’s hand down on the table, beating him in one swift motion; everyone was going crazy, jumping and screaming in a way that had Dennis making notes of whose drinks to start watering down.

He watched as Mac let go of the man’s hand and smiled gracefully at him, making Dennis’ hair stand on end. Then, he turned to someone behind him, and accepted what looked to be some kind of medal, before locking eyes with Dennis, grinning.

Dennis tried to return the smile, motioning weakly for him to come over.

Mac approached the bar, “I won!” He said, breathless.

“Won what?”

Dennis’ flat tone caused Mac’s smile to falter a little, but he pressed on, “oh, we found this, like, gay medallion on the floor, so we did a bunch of contests and,” he pointed at the medal around his neck, “I won!”

The medal was little more than a children’s toy - cheap plastic secured with a flimsy rainbow ribbon. Still, it was kind of sweet, and, knowing Mac’s motives had been good, Dennis felt a little of his jealousy melt away. 

Still, he sighed, feeling a little on edge, “seems like a lot of work for a plastic medal, man.”

“It was fun, bro! Besides,” Mac ripped the medal off, gently dropping it over Dennis’ head, “I wanted you to have it.”

“Me?”

“Yeah! It can be to, like, help you remember your first Pride.”

Dennis couldn’t help but smile, “you didn’t have to.” He said.

“I wanted to.”

There was something about the casual shrug that Mac gave, the absent smile that suggested he didn’t think it was a big gesture at all, that made Dennis want to weep.

“What?” Mac asked, seeing the look on his face, “you don’t like it?”

Dennis shook his head, “I love it, Mac, it’s just…”

He’d never admit to Mac that he was jealous - more than anything else, Mac wanted to be trusted, he needed to be trusted. Dennis wasn’t going to deny him simple, harmless fun because of his own trust issues. So, instead, he said:

“I think I need a break.”

Mac smiled, “are you bored over here all by yourself?”

“Sorta.”

“Well,” Mac leaned against the bar, “why don’t you come hang out with me and Dee for a while, have a drink and a sit down-”

“Oh, Mac, I don’t- I thought maybe we could just hang out in the back office for a while. Or, something.”

He winced, hating himself for taking Helena’s advice. Mac drew his brows together, though, looking more concerned than anything else, like he didn’t get the insinuation. Maybe it was because Dennis’ heart wasn’t in it.

“C’mon, man,” Mac said, quietly, “I know it’s busy, but it’s just like any other night!”

Mac was wrong. It was very different from any other night. In stepping out from behind the bar, Dennis was saying he was ready, affiliating himself with everyone else, saying he deserved to be there, that he was proud. 

He glanced at Mac’s glittery torso, then over to Dee, who had done her eye makeup in what she called “lesbian sunset.” Even Helena was draped in a flag, blue, white and pink stripes that Dennis couldn’t quite recognise, though they pulled at a memory in his brain. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t be that. Not yet.

Mac seemed to understand, “Den,” he said, “it wasn’t easy for me, either.”

Bullshit. Mac made everything look easy - he’d been swanning through the day like it was nothing, like he’d been out of the closet his entire life.

Then again, Dennis remembered Mac’s first Pride. He remembered him shivering in the middle of the living room, dripping water on their rug, the way his face had shifted as he refused to talk about what had happened.

Maybe not everything was easy. Maybe it was like wearing makeup - intimidating at first, confusing, with too much to remember and stressful enough to make your hands shake. Then, it became easier, then it became a habit, then it became muscle memory.

Dennis nodded, mouth dry, before taking Mac’s hand and letting himself be guided out from behind the bar.

**July**

It was the warmest day of the year so far, and the gang had decided to take advantage of it, packing a picnic and making the journey to the park near Dee and Dennis’ childhood home.

Since last October, the place had become almost unrecognisable; the lake was sparkling and blue, a far cry from the dull, green water Dennis had been met with before. Even the trees looked different - where they had once been sinister and claustrophobic, they now seemed light and inviting, and Dennis almost felt like he could walk into them, never to return again.

It was odd to be back there all together, especially with Frank tagging along. He’d been allowed to accompany them on the condition that he supplied them with weed, something he hadn’t needed to be asked twice about.

Dennis hadn’t smoked, though. He felt languid and heavy enough with the summer heat, and was content to lie beside Mac, passing a beer back and forth as he warmed himself in the sun.

“You’re gonna burn like that, Dennis.” Dee called from where she was sat in the shade with a book.

Mac poked him, just below his shoulder blade, “did you put sunscreen on?”

“Of course I did, asshole, you think I want wrinkles?”

Mac, wisely, didn’t answer. Instead, he took the beer from Dennis’ hand and sipped at it thirstily, draining the last drops.

It was a helpful reminder, though. Dennis realised it had been a while since he’d reapplied sunscreen; nobody else in the gang seemed to understand how it worked, and Dennis had spent the entire morning trying to explain that 60SPF meant that you had to reapply once an hour, not that you were protected “to the power of sixty,” as Charlie had suggested.

He sat up and reached around in one of their backpacks for the bottle, ignoring as Mac smiled at him.

“Shut up,” he said, before Mac had a chance to say anything. Surprisingly, Mac didn’t have a retort. He gave Dennis a weak smile and stumbled to his feet; there was a nervous energy about him that Dennis couldn’t quite understand. He almost wanted to blame it on the weed, but Mac was never the type to get paranoid when he smoked.

“Uh,” he said, blocking out the sun as he looked down at Dennis, “do you wanna go walk in the shade for a bit? I’m getting hot.”

That wasn’t like Mac at all - had Frank slipped him something? Given him bad weed? Looking a little closer, Dennis realised he was sweating, his hair slicked to the back of his neck.

“You’re always hot,” Dennis said, trying to calm the waves of unease that had begun to roll inside him.

“Dude-”

Sighing, Dennis grabbed Mac’s hand and pulled at it, climbing to his feet, “fine,” he said, “but just five minutes.”

Five minutes. How much could happen in five minutes?

He glanced over at Charlie and Frank, who were paddling in the lake with Pippin, splashing her and getting her all wound up and muddy. While it was a cute sight, Dennis knew that he’d have to give her a bath later, and he frowned to himself, annoyed at the thought of the mess she was going to make of the car.

As though he’d read his mind, Mac put a hand on Dennis’ arm, “I brought a bunch of towels for Pips to sit on, man, don’t worry.”

“How the hell did they even manage to get that dirty?”

“It’s Frank and Charlie, man.”

Dennis sighed, “I guess.”

He let Mac take his hand and lead him into the trees, still straining to look at Frank and Charlie, making sure they weren’t letting Pippin too deep into the water. A part of him wanted to pull away from Mac and go rescue her - Mac was, after all, a grown man, he should be able to take a walk by himself.

There was something about his tight grip, though, that made Dennis stay.

“Hey, uh-” he said, as Mac pulled them further into the trees, “are you alright? You seem kind of-”

Mac let go of Dennis to wring his hands together, “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

There was a split second where Dennis thought Mac was going to say something, but he seemed to lose his nerve and turned away, looking up at the thick canopy above them.

The unease in Dennis’ stomach transposed itself into fear, singing quietly as he took a deep, steadying breath. Mac didn’t act like this. Mac didn’t act like this unless there was something wrong, or he was hiding something.

“We-” he started, making the hairs on the back of Dennis’ neck stand up, “we used to come here a lot, huh?”

“Uh, yeah-”

“Remember how we used to ditch the others to come and climb trees?”

Dennis remembered, and he scowled, still annoyed, “I remember the time you tried to do a stunt and broke your leg and I had to carry you  _ all  _ the way home.”

“You didn’t carry me, I hopped-”

“-oh, I carried you, Mac. You cried and complained the entire time.”

“It hurt!”

“I’m sure it did, but you’re the one that said you could make that jump, man!”

Mac seemed to have relaxed a little, as though arguing with Dennis had soothed him, “I could totally make it now,” he said, turning back around and smiling.

“You’re not seventeen anymore, Mac. The trees won’t support your weight.”

“The trees would absolutely- hang on, watch this, Dennis.”

“No, Mac!” Dennis rushed forward to grip back by the shoulders, holding him back, “I can’t deal with you getting hurt again.”

Mac smiled, “that’s sweet.”

Rolling his eyes, Dennis adjusted his grip, “let me rephrase that: we can’t afford for you to get hurt again.”

“Shit. Yeah. I forgot.”

Mac looked down, that same nervous expression clouding his face once again; he was practically green, sweaty and clammy and seeming like he was ready to keel over. Dennis pressed a hand to his face, looking him deep in the eyes.   
“Did you smoke too much?” He asked, frowning, “Don’t white out on me, man.”

“Huh? No, I-”

“I think we have some chocolate back in the clearing, I’ll go and…”

Mac pulled away, shaking his head. “Dennis.” He said, so clearly and seriously that Dennis froze in his tracks.

He swallowed, looking Dennis dead in the eye as he dropped to his knees, so pale that Dennis was almost convinced he’d passed out, before he saw Mac looking up at him, as though searching for his reaction.

Oh. Did he want to-

Dennis took a step backwards, frowning. What had possessed Mac to think that this was a good idea?

“Mac, what the hell? I don’t wanna bang in the woods, that’s gross - that’s unsanitary!”

Offended, Mac crossed his arms, “I’m not trying to  _ bang  _ you, Dennis! Just let me do my plan!”

“Your plan looks an awful lot like sucking me off.”

“I’m not gonna suck you off! Just give me a moment!”

Something about the situation was so absurd, so confusing, that Dennis began to laugh. Mac was fumbling in his pocket for something, and Dennis reached out to comb his fingers through his hair, messing it up from where it had been carefully styled.

“Here,” Mac said, after a moment, producing a small box.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?”

“What is it?”

Frowning, Mac dropped his gaze to the box, “don’t be a dick about this, Dennis.”

Dennis looked at Mac, kneeling on the floor, then back at the box. Then, it dawned on him.

“Mac,” he said, slowly, “are you trying to propose to me?”

Mac blinked, “yeah.”

“You’re supposed to only be on one knee, idiot!”

“Oh!” Mac adjusted his pose, setting one foot on the ground, “better?”

A white noise filled Dennis’ ears. Even though Mac had already asked him, even though he’d known this was coming for weeks, months, even, it still felt like a shock.

He hadn’t felt anything when he and Maureen had gotten married. He’d pretended to, of course, given a big speech about how she’d thawed his frozen heart, or something equally as stupid and dramatic.

Of course, it had all been pretend - back then, he didn’t even remember how to feel in a way that was good, in a way that didn’t hurt. He’d been like a lightswitch: flickering rapidly between icy numbness and red hot pain, on and off on and off, with nothing and nobody managing to break him out.

Right then, shuffling his feet on the grassy floor, it didn’t feel the way he’d thought it would. Maybe it was because he and Mac were functionally already married - a legal bonding really was, in most ways, nothing more than a formality. A healthcare scheme.

He just felt warm. Warm like tea, warm like an electric blanket, warm like kind arms wrapped around shivering shoulders.

It was nice of Mac to have had the foresight to do this in private, and not in front of the gang; Dennis felt a lump begin to form in his throat.

He hadn’t realised how long he’d been stood there until Mac poked him in the leg, looking up with his big, sad eyes.

“You don’t wanna marry me,” he said, going to put the box back in his pocket.

“No!” Dennis said, too quickly, “I mean, yes, I do, shit-”

He dropped to his own knees, body parallel to Mac, not caring that the ground was a little damp - Mac looked at him, shocked. Usually, Dennis cared far too much about that kind of thing.

“I want to marry you.” Dennis said, as sincerely as his voice would allow.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Mac laughed, smiling, and Dennis smiled back, reaching to cup his face in his hands.

What little sunlight pierced through the thick trees above them reflected in Mac’s eyes, making Dennis feel a little weak, and more than a little glad he was kneeling.

“Dude,” Mac said, “we’re gonna be so good at marriage.”

“Well, we’ve had enough practice.”

Fiddling with the box, Mac smiled to himself, “I guess we have.”

Dennis took the box from his hands, gently opening it up. Inside were two simple silver bands, both different sizes. One each.

“Uh-” Mac plucked the smaller of the rings from the box, “I wasn’t completely sure how it worked with two dudes, so I just kinda guessed. I still have the receipt if you-”

“I, uh,” Dennis’ throat was tight, “I love them.”

“You do?”

He couldn’t answer. Instead, he nodded, clenching his jaw in a desperate attempt to get a grip.

Part of him just wanted to let himself cry; he knew Mac wouldn’t judge him for it. He just didn’t want to ruin the moment, as he always did.

“Here,” Mac said, “gimmie your hand.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?”

Dennis looked down at his hands, “probably not.”

Smiling, Mac took one of his hands and slipped the silver band onto his ring finger. It fit perfectly and, had Dennis not been afraid of the inevitable crack in his voice, he would’ve made a joke about how well Mac knew the exact size of his fingers.

“It suits you.”

That was all it took for Dennis to let out a sob-laugh and lean forward to kiss Mac clumsily; Mac melted into him, combing his fingers through his hair as he smiled. Dennis had never been with someone who smiled as much as Mac did when they kissed. The upwards curve of his mouth had become a constant in his life, as familiar as the gentle touch of his hands.

After a while, Mac pulled back, “are you okay?”

“Hm?”

“You’re crying.”

“Oh.”

Dennis leaned back to scrub at his face but Mac beat him to it, taking Dennis’ face in his hands and rubbing a thumb across his cheek.

“I have tissues in my pocket.” He said, seriously.

Dennis smiled, “you knew I was gonna cry?”

“Maybe.”

With more care than was probably necessary, Mac picked up his own ring and slipped it onto his finger, smiling down at it.

And, with that, they were engaged.

“I don’t feel any different,” Mac said.

Dennis frowned, “huh. Me neither.”

He didn’t. Mostly, he felt tired, like the experience had taken something out of him. With a ragged sigh, he sat back on his heels and pressed his palms to his eyes.

“Come here,” Mac said, pulling at his hands, “come on, Den.”

Dennis let himself be pulled into a hug, burying his face into Mac’s neck; he wanted to stay there forever, on that dirty floor, curled up in the safest place in the world.

Mac shook a little, and Dennis opened his eyes, tilting his head to look at him. He was laughing.

What?”

Mac wiped the smile from his face, “nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I was just,” he paused before continuing, “I was just thinking about how we’re gonna break the news to the gang.”

Dennis gripped Mac tighter, “Christ, no.”

“What, you wanna elope?”

It was a possibility. Dennis chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking hard. Really, he didn’t need a big ceremony - he’d never expected he’d get one, so being married at all was enough. Still, it would be nice to have a celebration that he had total control over.

Mac poked him in the side, “you want a big party, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to be  _ big-” _

“Come on, then,” Mac cut him off, pulling him to his feet, “let’s go tell the gang.”

They walked back to the clearing together, arm in arm.

The rest of the gang were gathered in a small herd, playing fetch with Pippin and laughing at her short legs as she hurried after the ball. At the sight, Dennis began to relax a little; the gang were a pain in the ass sometimes, but they were family. They were gonna be happy for him.

“Hey,” Mac called out, waving at them, “hey, we have an announcement.”

Charlie turned his head, frowning at them, “have you two been banging?”

“No-”

“Look at their knees.” Frank cut in.

Dee wrinkled her nose, “that’s  _ disgusting,  _ what the fuck?”

“Guys, listen-”

The gang didn’t listen. They erupted into chaos, accusing Mac and Dennis of various acts, and quickly devolving into an all-around grievance airing, so loud that Pippin stared at them, judgemental.

Mac and Dennis shared a glance, and Mac raised his eyebrows, as though asking for permission.

“Go ahead,” Dennis muttereed.

Mac took a deep breath, “everyone shut up!” He bellowed, with more force than Dennis had heard him use in years; it sent a little thrill of excitement up his spine, and he gripped his arm.

The gang looked at him, resentful.

“Me and Dennis-”

Dennis coughed, “Dennis and I.” He corrected.

“Right,” Mac tried again, “Dennis and I are going to get married.”

Everyone froze. Even Pippin, who can’t have understood what Mac had said, stood stock still, staring up at them.

“Who proposed to who?” Dee asked, crossing her arms, “and don’t tell me it was Dennis, I know he’s too much of a pussy.”

“That’s not fair, I totally could have-”

“It was a mutual thing.” Mac said, so calm that Dennis had to look at him to make sure he was feeling alright. There was a huge grin on his face, the kind he usually got when he was too drunk to remember his own name.

“Uh-huh,” Dee said, annoyed, “and you didn’t even think to tell me?”

Mac rolled his eyes, “what, did I need your permission? Jesus, Dee, this isn’t the dark ages.”

“It would have been nice to know you were proposing to my brother,” Dee snapped, that’s all!”

Frank sat down, looking stunned, “honestly, I didn’t know that was legal here already.”

“Legal?” Dennis waved his free arm, “Frank, gay marriage has been legal nationwide since 2016!”

“Is that also when you started your Pinterest board for yours and Mac’s wedding, Dennis?” Dee asked, with mock-innocence.

“I don’t have a- shut up, Dee!”

“Yeah,” Mac chimed in, “shut up, Dee.”

He unlooped his arm from Dennis’ and wrapped it protectively around his shoulder, squeezing him gently; Dennis smiled, and tilted his head to rest it against Mac’s.

“Gross.” Dee scowled.

“Homophobe.” Mac retorted.

Flipping them the bird, Dee threw herself down on the ground next to Frank and pulling out her phone, texting frantically; Dennis guessed she was telling Helena the good news.

Charlie had been very quiet.

“Hey, buddy?” Mac said, “you good?”

Charlie looked directly at them, “who’s gonna be your best man?” He asked, sounding a little nervous.

Mac looked at Dennis. Dennis looked at Mac.

“Well,” Mac said, “you, Charlie! Best man, or- or best person, or-”

Charlie flung himself at them, hugging them both tight and laughing wildly. Smiling, and glad Charlie was happy, Dennis hugged back, only letting go when Charlie pulled away.

“Are you two gonna be, like, even more annoying when you’re married, though?” He asked.

Dennis smiled, “nothing’s gonna change, buddy. I promise.”

Charlie smiled again and began to talk about plans and parties with Mac. Dennis realised, suddenly, that each person was supposed to have someone to help them with the planning.

So, if Charlie was Mac’s best person, then-

“Hey, Dee, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Dee rolled her eyes, looking up from her phone, “what, Dennis? You wanna gloat that you’re getting married first, just like you always said you would?”

“No, I-” Dennis paused, mouth a little dry, “I thought you could be, like, my best man but, instead, my best woman.”

“What about Charlie?”

“He’s Mac’s best person.”

Dee put her phone down, “you really want me to help out?”

“Dee, you’re my twin sister - who else would I pick? Rex? Artemis?  _ Cricket?” _

That earned a quiet laugh from Dee. She folded her arms and looked down - Dennis knew she’d never admit it, but he could see she was touched.

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

“Nice.”

Her gaze fell on Dennis’ ring, “is that really what he got you?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Don’t be a dick. It’s sweet.”

“It’s ugly is what it is, Dennis. You’re really gonna wear that for six months?”

“Six months? How long do you think we’re going to be engaged for?”

In Dennis’ mind, weddings and funerals were the exact same thing. Sure, they were opposites, but they were the same - big fancy parties where everyone cried too much and wore uncomfortable clothes.

His mum’s funeral had taken place less than a month after she’d died. Why should his wedding take any longer to plan than that?”

Dee was smirking, “oh, man, you really have no idea how to do any of this, do you?”

“Good job I have my best woman to help me.” He said, smiling brightly.

Dee buried her head in her hands.

On the way home, Mac was very quiet. It was just him, Dennis, and Pippin alone in the Range Rover, as the rest of the gang had piled into Dee’s car. Mac seemed to be concentrating hard on containing Pippin’s mess, swaddling her in towels so she didn’t get mud everywhere.

Dennis didn’t mind the silence. His heart was still pounding - he felt like he had the first time Mac had kissed him, dizzy and like a weight had been lifted from his hands. There was a fluttering in his chest, bubbling over like pink lemonade, that made his breath catch in his throat when he tried to breathe in. It was the feeling he sometimes got before a panic attack, that tight, squeezing sensation around his neck; only, this time, it was in the opposite direction, squeezing with joy. Was this what it was to be excited?

Sneaking a glance at Mac, he saw he’d closed his eyes and rested his head against the window. After the proposal, he’d ended up drinking and smoking more than he should’ve, probably out of relief rather than celebration.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Dennis warned gently, “we’re almost home.”

“Okay.”

Dennis reached over and touched where Mac’s ring sat on his finger, “wanna celebrate with takeout and a movie?”

“Yeah, I’m too tired to cook.”

“I can see that.”

They drifted into a comfortable silence, hands still touching. It was so surreal. The silver beneath Dennis’ fingers was warm, and he wondered how it’d feel when it was replaced with a gold band. Would it feel as good as this? Better? Was that even possible?

He tried to ask Mac, or at least explain the way his heart was trying to escape out of his throat, but all he managed to say was, “I love you.”

Mac smiled drowsily, “I love you too.”

**August**

Dennis crashed into the apartment in high spirits, “hey, Mac!” He called out, “I’ve got news!”

Mac was sat on the couch, angled away from him.

“What?” He asked, not matching Dennis’ energy.

Dennis frowned. Mac had been excited and animated throughout the entire wedding planning process, turning out to be more assertive and stubborn than he had in years.

In fact, Mac’s stubbornness was the reason why they’d decided to have a registry office wedding. Otherwise, he would have insisted on having it in a church, and there was no way Dennis was setting foot in one.

“I, uh-” Dennis faltered, closing the apartment door, “I found a cheap supplier for our wedding cake. They look kinda gross but, like, in a super sugary way that you’ll love, since your taste buds are so broken.”

Mac’s shoulders stiffened, “do you have to be an asshole  _ all  _ the time?” He asked, sharply.

“I-”

Dennis wasn’t sure what to say. Teasing and gentle bullying was an accepted part of their relationship, Mac had never snapped at him like that before; usually, he gave as good as he got. It made Dennis feel bad, like the time he’d accidentally elbowed him in the face in bed and given him a nosebleed.

He slunk over to the couch and sat down beside Mac, studying his face closely. He looked tired, and his eyes had a fixed position, like he was memorising the cracks and lines on the coffee table in front of him.

“I’m… sorry?” Dennis tried, resting his chin on Mac’s shoulder and following his gaze, “you have great taste, man. You can come and help me pick out a cake.”

Mac sighed, “yeah.”

For someone so complicated, Mac’s moods were often easy to deal with, at least, Dennis found them easy to deal with. All he usually needed was a hug, a moment to sit quietly, and to be told a joke until he managed to crack a smile and talk about what was bothering him.

Dennis tried all three of these things at once, wrapping his arms tightly around Mac and smiling against his neck.

“The biggest issue,” he said, “is how we’re gonna find cake toppers that look like us. I don’t think they make them as ripped as you, man.”

Mac didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile a little bit. Instead, he leaned against Dennis and closed his eyes.

“I, uh, got a letter from my dad.” He said.

Dennis froze, “oh?”

“He’s not coming.”

“I didn’t think he was invited.”

There was a moment of silence in which Mac paused to bite his lip, “I invited him.”

“Mac-”

“I just had to know, Dennis!

Dennis hated that he understood why Mac couldn’t let go of Luther, no matter how badly he deserved to.

It was for the same reason that Dennis still let Frank manipulate him, the same reason why he left flowers on his mum’s grave on her birthday every year. It was a desperate, clawing need for approval.

Because, there’s always a period in your life where you believe that your parents know best - that they know everything there is to know about the world. That period is shortly followed by another period, in which you realise that that’s not true, that it’s bullshit.

Sometimes you don’t want to believe that they were wrong. Sometimes you cling to the belief that they were right so strongly that you don’t know what to do without it.

He squeezed Mac tighter, “we talked about this, man.”

“I know.”

Dennis wished there was a fix-all to this. He’d half hoped that the initial sting of being rejected by Luther would warn him away from him forever, but he’d been wrong.

He knew Mac still wrote him letters, and he knew that, up until then, Luther never replied. It hadn’t been harmless, but stopping it, confronting Mac, would have been worse.

“What did he say?” Dennis asked, out of a morbid curiosity.

Maybe some of Mac’s hope had rubbed off on him, because he crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Luther had at least let him down kindly, telling him he was serving a life sentence and there was no way he could make it, even though he wanted to very much.

Mac ducked his head, “you don’t wanna know.”

“Let me read it. Please?”

“No, I-” Mac closed his eyes, “I tore it up.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s… yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Running a hand through Mac’s hair, Dennis sighed, “you don’t need him.”

“He’s my dad, Dennis.”

“And? Mac - you don’t owe that man shit. He’s been in prison half your life, and he spent the other half fucking you up; if he wasn’t already suffering the consequences of his actions, I’d-”

“But he’s my  _ dad.” _

Mac’s voice was thick, taking on that quality it always did when he was fighting back tears - Dennis began to panic. He’d never been good at this, at comforting people; he always said too much or too little, tried to fix things that didn’t need to be fixed, lost track of what was being said.

Still, he tried his best, keeping a tight hold of Mac.

“Dads don’t mean shit,” he said, “just look at Frank.”

“But-”

“I know, I know, it’s different, but come on, Mac. Luther treats you like shit. You need to let him go and leave him to rot in prison, like he deserves.”

Mac sighed, “I can’t just abandon family, Dennis.” He said, sadly.

Then, Dennis had an idea.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing Mac’s hand and pulling him off the couch, leading him towards the bedroom.

Mac resisted a little, confused, “I don’t think that’s-”

“Please? Trust me.”

Mac sighed, but followed Dennis into the bedroom, sitting down heavily on the bed and folding his hands in his lap. Everything felt a little softer, suddenly, in the half-light, and Dennis found himself relaxing.

Mac, on the other hand, looked worse, “Dennis,” he said, biting his lip, “I know you wanna help, but…”

“Here,” Dennis sat down next to Mac, guiding his gaze to the bookshelf next to the bed.

It wasn’t really a bookshelf. Really, it had never held more than a few books at a time, and was currently full of framed photographs; some were more recent, but most were there from when Mac had put them up a couple of years ago.

“What do you see?” He asked Mac.

“Uh, a shelf.”

“No, asshole,” Dennis caught himself, remembering he was trying to be nice, “look, I’m doing a thing, okay?”

“Fine. What am I looking at?”

Leaning forward, Dennis pointed at one of the pictures.

It was a photo of the entire gang. Dennis remembered taking it vividly, way back before cameras with timers were commonplace. Charlie had created a kind of Rube Goldberg machine to let them take a group photo together in the bar, and it had been a complete ordeal - the picture on the shelf was the only existing one from that session in which someone wasn’t blurred or blinking. Somehow, the entire gang were smiling - Mac had his arm around Charlie, and Dee was looking off to the side, laughing at some long-forgotten joke Dennis had told her.

Mac sighed, “that’s a picture of us.”

“Of the gang.”

“Yeah.”

Dennis heard the silent reproach in his voice, like he didn’t understand what he was doing.

So, Dennis pointed to the next picture.

This one was a little more recent, taken by Dee a couple of weeks after Mac had come out, during some insane party at the bar. Dennis barely remembered that night, and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was shirtless in the duster. Despite being nearly blacked out, he was grinning, supported on either side by Mac and Charlie.

“How about this one?”

Breaking through his hurt for a moment, Mac laughed, “dude, you were wasted that night.”

“But I was fine? I didn’t get hurt?”

“Uh - I guess not.”

“Because the gang made sure I was okay.”

Dennis glanced at Mac’s face, trying to figure out if it was working - he still didn’t seem to be getting it, so he pointed to the next picture.

This one was his favourite. It was the one he’d taken to Dee’s apartment last October, when Mac had given him an ultimatum; that felt like a lifetime ago, though, and it had begun to look like a normal photo again, rather than a talisman he’d left in his backpack for a week.

By now, there were more intimate candids of them, of course. Compared to those pictures, the ones where they were curled up together in a booth, or huddled under the pool table, drunk and holding hands, they seemed miles apart.

But, there was something about the way they were looking at each other, something about the way they were were leaning their elbows on the bar, so deliberately careful, something so open and honest about Mac’s smile, that it still made Dennis’ heart twist. It was like seeing a photo of someone you love, years before you met them.

“You look good in that one.” Mac said.

“It’s my favourite.”

“Why? ‘Cos you look so good?”

Dennis rolled his eyes, “no! Because we’re just so-”

“Oblivious?”

“Happy.”

“Oh.”

Finally, Dennis saw realisation dawn on Mac’s face. He sighed in relief.

“You’re smiling in all these pictures.” He explained.

Mac swallowed, “I have pictures of me and my dad.”

“And you look miserable in all of them, Mac.”

It was true. Mac hung his head, and Dennis took one of his hands.

“But fuck him,” he said, “he’s one person, you have four of us.  _ We’re _ your family, Mac.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s so corny,” Mac complained looking up at the ceiling.

“And..?”

“And, a little true, I guess.”

“It’s very true.”

Mac sighed, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. Dennis squeezed his hand, knowing he’d relaxed a little bit; all it would take now was a distraction, or some kind words, and then things would be okay. 

He wanted to push a little, though, just to be sure, “so,” he said, “we’re gonna get married. And your family’s gonna be there, okay? The gang, and your mum, and all your friends.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Mac snorted, “how are we gonna fit everyone into the registry office?”

“Okay - maybe that bit should just be us, but, I promise, when we get to the bar-”

“I get it, Dennis.”

He did. There was a new light in his eyes, like he’d understood something for the first time, and a tiny crack in the fabric of Dennis’ being healed itself at the sight, at the knowledge that he’d been the one to bring that expression to Mac’s face.

“Hey,” Dennis said, gently, “wanna help me decide on a cake?”

“Do we get to taste test it?” 

“Of course, man!”

Mac smiled, “then, sure. Let’s go.”

**September**

Surprisingly, the actual wedding ceremony went pretty smoothly.

Maybe it was due to Mac and Dennis’ wise choice to not let the gang in on it, leaving them instead to set up the bar for the after-party, hoping that they didn’t fuck it up.

It wasn’t that Dennis didn’t want them there - it was more that he didn’t trust himself to be what Mac needed with an audience there. It was far easier to be open when it was just the two of them.

Of course, it wasn’t just the two of them. There was a legal witness, and Mac had somehow convinced Dennis to let them bring a Priest along.

They hadn’t written special vows like you see in the movies. They’d tried, of course, but it had been too difficult - neither of them had been able to fully express what the other meant to them in words. there was no verbal equivalent of remembering someone’s coffee order, or reaching for their hand without realising you were doing it, so they hadn’t tried to find one.

They’d signed the papers in a nervous near-silence, like speaking would bring bad luck.

Switching his silver ring for a gold one hadn’t made him feel any different, not in the way he’d hoped it would. Really, he just felt relief, relief that he’d managed to go through with it, and that neither of them had died or been in a terrible accident leading up to the wedding.

He tried to tell Mac this, putting it all in the way he kissed him when they got to the parking lot, but it wasn’t enough. Instead, he opted for a joke about how Mac couldn’t escape him not, and Mac had laughed and kissed him again.

The gang were waiting for them when they arrived at the bar. There was no dress code - Mac and Dennis had gone to the registry office in jeans and shirts, but everyone was still looking pretty nice.

“Did you go through with it?” Frank asked, a little too earnestly for Dennis’ taste.

“Yes, we went through with it!” He snapped, “what, did you not think we were gonna?”

Dee pulled a face, “it would be just like the two of you to back out of your wedding at the last minute, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, “like, remember that time when-”

Charlie’s anecdote was drowned out by music bleeding from the speakers. It was a familiar tune, so familiar that Dennis’ stomach dropped.

“Oh.” He said, looking at Mac, “that’s-”

“Yeah.”

Wind Beneath my Wings. It felt like a lifetime ago that Dennis had stood up in front of everyone, with sweaty palms, and sung it out to Mac.

Mac faced him, “it’s, like, Philly tradition for the couple to get the first dance, dude.”

“Only Philly, huh?”

“Just come here,” Mac said, opening his arms.

Dennis hesitated. Even though they were married, even though he’d done way more embarrassing shit in front of everyone in the bar, it still felt like crossing a line.

He glanced around, looking to see who was watching. Everyone seemed oddly ignorant of the two of them, like they’d only come to the party for the free alcohol. That was probably the case, to be honest. He scowled as he watched Artemis and The Waitress chatting in a corner, completely oblivious that the couple they were supposed to be celebrating had arrived.

Reading his mind as he so often did, Mac took his hand, “dude,” he said, “it’s okay. We don’t have to - just come here.”

Dennis sighed, letting Mac fold him into a hug, gripping onto him so tight that he thought he might burst a blood vessel.

Aside from everything else, it wasn’t a good song to dance to. They’d tried before, alone in the kitchen late at night, and neither of them had ever been able to find the beat, ending up swaying awkwardly, like they were at a middle school dance.

“Dude,” Mac said, into Dennis’ shoulder, “you’re, like, my husband now.”

“You only just realised that? It’s been well over an hour, Mac.”

“No, I knew, but I didn’t  _ know.” _

Dennis laughed, “that makes sense,” he said, loosening his grip on Mac’s shirt a little as he began to relax.

The song ended almost too soon, and Dennis was broken from his calm revere by an upbeat 80s pop track blaring through the bar. He watched as a couple of people headed to the dancefloor and realised, relieved, that he and Mac were the only people remotely sober.

He resolved to fix that.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Mac towards the bar, “let’s start a new Philly wedding tradition.”

“Huh?” 

“Let's do a shit ton of shots.”

Mac laughed, “whatever you want, man.”

They got drunk.

All things considered, Dennis thought that was sensible. Drunk was a good state to be in at a wedding - not tipsy, but not quite wasted either.

They were miles behind the rest of the gang, though - Charlie had been drinking for hours before they got there and, that, Dennis thought, must have compelled him to do what he did.

He stood up on the bar, drink in hand, and smashed a bottle on the floor, the piercing sound getting everyone’s attention.

“Speech!” He slurred, “speech!”

Dennis glanced at Mac, unsure of whether Charlie was announcing or calling for said speech. Mac shot him a careless smile and took his hand, soothing him.

With everyone’s eyes trained on him, Charlie continued, “my friends are married.” He started, his voice thick and taking on that unusual cadence it always did when he was drunk.

“Oh, shit, is Charlie doing a speech?” Dee asked, appearing beside Dennis.

“Shh.” Mac said, “I wanna hear what he has to say.”

“My friends are married,” Charlie repeated, “and I’m, like, happy as shit - even though it should have happened a decade ago”

A rumble of laughter echoed through the bar, and Charlie glared out with unseeing eyes, annoyed at the interruption.

“Mac,” he said, “has been my best friend since I was, like, a baby, and Dennis has been my best friend since he bought overpriced weed from Mac in high school.

“Uh, they’re both the most annoying people in the world, probably in the entire universe, actually, and I-” he paused, taking a swig of his drink, “I’m proud of them for figuring their shit out, even if it took them  _ way  _ too long, and even if they’ve basically already been married for, like, twenty years.”

He finished his drink, and threw that down on the floor too, letting it shatter beside the beer bottle. Then, he smiled, swaying on the bar, and looked directly as Mac and Dennis, “please don’t get divorced,” he said, “and, if you do, my apartment isn’t open to either of you.”

Dennis watched Charlie climb off the bar, nearly falling and hitting his head. 

Mac turned to Dennis, “that was sweet,” he said.

Dennis nodded. It had been sweet.

He glanced at Dee, about to ask if she was going to make a speech, but found himself met with the back of her head - she was staring at Helena, who was drinking on the other side of the bar.

“Hey,” Dennis said, “if  _ you’re  _ gonna propose, you’d better not do it today. Don’t you dare upstage me.”

Dee turned to glare at him, “don’t be a dick.”

“You’re the one distracted at my wedding - you’re being a terrible best woman, by the way.”

“Oh, am I being a terrible best woman?”

“You’re not supporting me!”

“You have a husband to support you!” Dee hissed.

Mac cut in, “look-”

“Shut up!” Dee and Dennis said, in unison.

Dee glared for a second, before her face cleared, “okay,” she said, “okay - you want a speech.”

“No, Dee-”

Dennis tried to stop her, but it was too late; Dee copied Charlie’s path to the bar, picking up another bottle and smashing it as she climbed up, balancing unsteadily on the slippery surface. Wincing, Dennis had to resist the urge to close his eyes, hoping she didn’t fall and break her neck.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Dee called, “I have a speech too.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dennis muttered, burying his face in Mac’s shoulder. This was going to be rough.

He heard Dee clear her throat before continuing, “Dennis is my asshole brother - and Mac is his asshole husband, they’re both the absolute worst.

“These two dickbags lived with me for two hellish years of my life, and, every single day, I had to watch them skip around the fact they were in love. Do you know what it’s like to watch a repressed gay love story play out over your morning coffee? It’s awful! And don’t even get me  _ started  _ on how annoying they are when they’re separated, literally, they’re just the worst, most annoying, most codependent people I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.

“But I’m still happy for them.”

Dee paused, and Dennis felt Mac’ arms righten around him; he looked up to frown at Dee. Was this her was of lulling him into a false sense of security?

“That’s right, Dennis,” she said, “listen carefully now, because I’m never gonna say this shit again: I’m happy for you and Mac, and I’m happy that the two of you can stop bothering me and live in marital bliss. Or whatever.”

That was a surprise - there was none of her usual venom in her voice, and Dennis gripped Mac hard, stealing a glance at him. He looked touched.

Before Dee climbed off the bar, she locked eyes with Dennis, “Mac didn’t pay me to say that, by the way.”

“I didn’t,” Mac assured him, a strange smile ghosting his mouth.

The rest of the party carried on without a hitch; nobody mentioned the speeches, somehow aware that there had been a kind of hidden barrier that allowed Charlie and Dee to speak their minds as they stood on top of the bar. To address it would be to cheapen what had been said.

When even the slowest of drinkers were drunk enough, someone put on a slow playlist, encouraging people to take to the dancefloor in pairs.

Dee and Helena took the lead, swaying gracelessly to the beat, and Dennis was sure he was Mrs Mac and Bonnie Kelly dancing at some point, though his eyes may have been playing tricks on him.

“My feet are tired,” he complained, after a couple of songs, leaning wearily against Mac’s chest.

Mac smiled, “come sit down with me.”

They headed off to their booth together, slotting themselves in and sitting close, letting their hands intertwine.

“You want a drink?” Mac asked, lifting Dennis’ hand to press a kiss to his palm.

Laughing, Dennis pulled away, “more shots.” He said.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! It’s our wedding day - when else can we take shots all night?”

Mac rolled his eyes, but slipped out of the booth, running a light hand through his hair, “back in a second,” he said.

“Mhm.”

Dennis watched as Mac picked his way through the crowd a little unsteady on his feet - people tried to talk to him, probably to offer their congratulations, but he brushed them all off.

That tight feeling gripped Dennis’ throat again, the same one he’d gotten the day Mac had proposed. They were married.

He stared at his husband (something he still wasn’t used to saying) as he poured out a tray of shots, furrowing his brow as he tried not to spill anything with his unsteady hands. Charlie was leant against the bar, making Mac laugh.

His chest was suddenly tight. He wasn’t scared of the future, not one bit, but having it all laid out like that was overwhelming, the feeling you get when you chug a drink too fast and it all hits you at once.

And it was all hitting him: the lights, the loud music, the way Mac was sneaking glances at him while Charlie talked his ear off.

The tightness in his throat became a lump, and he swallowed, knowing what came next. No matter what - he couldn’t cry in front of a bar full of people.

He fled, rushing into the clean bathroom and slammed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it.

It was mercifully empty. He raced to the sink and gripped it, staring at his face, fixating on one tiny smudge of mascara just below his left eye. The makeup he’d worked so hard on that morning had begun to melt off, exposing his eyes, bruised with the memory of a sleepless night before.

He sniffled, looking up at the ceiling, cursing himself for not having the foresight to wear waterproof mascara.

Recently, he’d been crying more often. Mac kept telling him it was a good thing - assuring him he didn’t mind at all if Dennis got a little emotional while they watched romcoms, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing.

He took a deep, steadying breath, running a hand through his hair.

Just then, the bathroom door opened, amplifying the quiet music that had been gently trickling through.

“Hey, man,” Mac said, “whatcha doing?”

Dennis cleared his throat, “nothing.”

There was a moment of silence, before Mac stepped inside and closed the door, locking it behind him.

He walked over to the sink and put the tray down on it, smiling brightly at Dennis as he did so. Dennis didn’t know how he did that - how he managed to stay so calm.

“Frank said you were waiting to bang me,” he said, laughing a little.

Dennis didn’t reply. He stayed looking in the mirror, trying to keep his breathing steady and even, determined not to ruin Mac’s day with tears.

“Dennis?” Mac lay his hand on top of Dennis’, “you okay?”

Dennis closed his eyes, “yeah, I just-”

“Don’t tell me you want a divorce already, man.”

He was joking, but there was an edge to his voice, a single note of fear. Dennis swallowed, turning to look Mac in the face.

“I just needed a moment alone.” He said, firmly.

“You want me to go?”

“No!” Dennis said, too quickly. He let go of the sink and let Mac intertwine their fingers, “no. Stay.”

“Okay.”

They stood there for a moment, before a smile appeared on Mac’s face, “hey,” he said, “we’re alone.”

“So?”

“So… wanna dance?”

Dennis looked at Mac for a long moment. He was right, they  _ were  _ alone - it would be no different to dancing alone in their kitchen together, or by the jukebox when everyone else had gone home.

He swallowed, “sure.”

Mac gently pulled him away from the sink, wrapping him in his arms, “Charlie said he’s bringing the cake out in ten minutes.”

“He can wait,” Dennis murmured, pressing against Mac and straining his ears in an attempt to figure out what they were dancing to.

They swayed for a long time, not changing their pace as the songs changed - the door to the bathroom was so thick that they could only really hear the faint strains of bass drifting through.

Usually, they’d switch track after a few songs, putting on something upbeat and getting Pippin overexcited, hopping around the apartment together. Right then, though, Dennis found himself glad for the gentle sound; he wanted to stay there for the rest of the evening, his cheek pressed against Mac’s under the bright, fluorescent lights.

“I like being married,” Mac said simply, as casually as he would talk about the weather.

“Uh,” Dennis dug his fingers into Mac’s back, “me too.”

It had used to scare him when Mac was like this - all honest and open and vulnerable. Sometimes, he’d wonder where they’d draw the line, worried Mac would somehow steal a love confession from him.

It still scared him a little, if he was honest. But not as much.

Seeing how tense he was, Mac pulled away slightly, just enough to look Dennis in the eye, “dude,” he said, “relax.”

Dennis took a deep breath in, trying to relax a little, if only to appease Mac. Once his shoulders had loosened a little, Mac pressed a hand to his face, smiling.

“You’re good, man.” He said.

Dennis sighed, about to chastise Mac for still calling him man now that they were married, before he was startled by a loud rapping at the door.

“Hey!” Dee shouted, “hey, you assholes had better not be banging in there!”

Dennis jumped, gripping Mac in surprise. He’d almost forgotten about the party raging outside, even though it was in their honour.

Mac looked at him, before pressing his mouth against Dennis’ ear, “hey,” he said, “wanna pretend we’re banging to piss her off?”

“Dude,  _ yes.” _

**October**

Dennis had always liked being inside on cold days. He stared out at the icy road, leaning his head against the living room window as he watched passers-by, all headed to the club for the night.

Paddy’s was shut due to a burst pipe, making it the first Friday evening he and Mac had had off work for a while. Neither of them had wanted to go out clubbing, and had opted to stay in with Pippin and watch a movie.

He turned to Mac, who was busy making mac and cheese in the kitchen, “it’s cold out,” he said, folding his arms.

“Huh?”

Dennis rolled his eyes, crossing the room to stand in the kitchen. As he moved, Pippin lifted her head, her eyes following him around the room, a little annoyed at being woken up.

“I said,” Dennis murmured, “it’s cold out.”

“Almost time to unpack the electric blanket, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Mac smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the edges, “you know,” he said, “it’s been a year since we bought that thing.”

“Really?”

Dennis knew what he was really talking about. It had been almost a year since the upheaval - almost a year since they’d first gotten together officially.

He sat down at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers on it in an unsteady rhythm, “it’s been a good year.”

“It has.”

Dennis glanced down at his hands, his gold band catching his eye - it was still a shock to see it, even after a month. When he woke up in the morning, he sometimes forgot it was there, jumping when he felt it, warm against his skin.

Some mornings, he could barely believe any of this was real at all: waking up next to Mac, being allowed to touch Mac without repercussions, calling Mac his husband. It was all beautifully surreal.

Turning the stove off, Mac approached Dennis, rubbing his shoulders.

“Have you thought of a movie to watch yet?” He asked, voice quiet.

Dennis closed his eyes, “Predator?”

“Again?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Uh,” Mac’s hands wandered up to Dennis’ hair, “how about 10 Things I Hate About You?”

Dennis groaned, “please, man, not another romcom.”

“What’s wrong with romcoms?”

Though he’d never admit it, Dennis loved his newfound freedom to enjoy romantic shit. Sappy films, bouquets of flowers bought at the grocery store, candles on the kitchen table; they were all things he’d never had a chance to enjoy before, not in the right way.

Still, there were only so many evenings he could spend teary-eyed.

“I’m just not in the mood tonight,” Dennis said, opening his eyes and craning his neck to look at Mac.

“Not in the mood? Or more in the mood to watch ripped dudes for two hours?”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

Laughing, Mac tugged at Dennis’ hair before stepping away to pour the mac and cheese onto plates. He hadn’t gotten any better at cooking, aside from learning how not to burn basic meals, but everything tasted better now, somehow. 

Dennis watched intently as Mac fiddled with the plates, sneakily pouring a little more onto Dennis’ like he wouldn’t notice.

He looked away as Mac turned around, determined not to be caught staring, but smiled as Mac put the plate down in front of him; if Mac was a shit cook, he was at least better than Dennis, who wasn’t anything. If he tried, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to work the stove anymore.

“It’s hot,” Mac warned as he sat down, letting his legs tangle with Dennis’ beneath the table.

Dennis swallowed, “thanks.”

They ate in silence.

Dinner never got any easier - it was always Dennis’ least favourite part of the day. The entire process of forcing food down his throat while Mac watched was nothing short of excruciating.

Well, okay, maybe it did get a little easier. It was easier than it had been two years ago; but that didn’t put him on the same level as Mac, who could inhale twice as much food as Dennis with a smile on his face.

Some days were still harder than others. Today was hard. Dennis found himself floundering after a few bites, and ended up abandoning the meal halfway through, pushing his plate away.

“You don’t want anymore?” Mac asked, his voice loaded.

“No.”

“That’s okay.”

Mac nudged him under the table, pressing his foot against his shin, “Charlie said he’s gonna take a cooking class with Frank.” He said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking I might-”

“Can I come too?”

Mac grinned, “would you really want to?”

“Someone has to make sure the three of you don’t get arrested.”

A cooking class could be fun; it would probably end in detainment or, at the very least, tears, but there was something appealing about the idea. Maybe if he and Mac put their incompetence together, they’d be able to make a decent meal for once.

Mac finished his dinner quickly, before standing up and clearing their plates away, throwing them in the sink to be dealt with later.

“Ready for that movie?” He asked.

Dennis stood up wearily, “yeah, alright.”

The two of them curled up on the couch, so close they were practically on top of each other, sharing body heat. Mac wrapped an arm around Dennis’ shoulders.

“Are you warm enough?” He asked, worried.

The heating situation in their apartment was one thing that hadn’t improved over the past year - they’d figured out that their windows were letting in a draught, making the living room chilly and damp in a way that set Dennis off coughing.

But, it didn’t matter. The broken heating didn’t matter. Dennis’ weak lungs didn’t matter.

It was the first cold day of Autumn and Dennis had never felt warmer.

He looked at Mac, who was staring straight ahead, concentrating as he navigated Netflix, trying to pull up their movie. In the dull glow of the television screen, he looked beautiful.

“What?” He asked, not needing to look at Dennis to sense he was staring at him.

“Nothing,” Dennis said automatically. Then, he swallowed, “I just think- I think I might be in love with you. That’s all.”

Mac turned his head and grinned, eyes so wide that Dennis could have seen himself reflected in them if he’d wanted to.

“You know what, man?” He said, bringing his face in close, “I think I might be in love with you too.”

And, then, Dennis kissed him. Not as a conscious decision, but out of instinct, habit. It didn’t feel the same as it had a year ago. His palms didn’t sweat anymore, and that dizzying, claustrophobic vertigo had all but disappeared. His nerves had been replaced by a solid warmth.

Mac pulled away, looking at him, “if we both love each other so much,” he said, “maybe we should adopt a dog and get married or something.”

Dennis laughed, “maybe we should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for sticking with me as long as u did <3 i hope u enjoyed this and ily all!!


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